


Shadow

by mutschekiepchen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 01, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutschekiepchen/pseuds/mutschekiepchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it wasn’t the absence of people or noise which caused Stiles to shift uncomfortably in his seat. From the moment he left the library he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed.</p><p>Considering the sun was already down, the world around Stiles naturally consisted of nothing but darkness and shadows, created by the occasional street lamp and the moon. And true, one could say he was just seeing things. But he was damn certain he wasn’t.</p><p>There was something out there. In the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Something was off.

Actually, something has been off for quite some time.

It started the night the female corpse was found in the woods. Well, only half of it actually. The lower part to be exact. The upper body was still missing. Not that that it was common knowledge. Stiles only knew about it because he’d done what he always did – eavesdropping on his Dad, the Sheriff, while he was busy orchestrating a search party over the radio.

Predictably, Stiles wanted to sneak out that night, hell-bent on finding the missing part by himself. But as bold as he might be – not to mention downright stupid sometimes – he didn’t want to go alone. Unfortunately, his usual partner in crime and best friend Scott had been sick at the time, confined to his bed with a severe cold.

In the end Stiles was kinda glad that he didn’t follow through with his plan.

After three weeks the police still had no clue what killed the young woman. Well, at least they had no irrefutable results.

There were rumors floating around, about a mountain lion attack. And going by the viciousness of the assault it must have been an animal, and a big one at that. It was the only explanation that made sense. Well, some sort of sense. So the police went with it, despite the fact that there haven’t been any sightings of mountain lions in the area for years, or any other wild animal that size for that matter.

And then there was the thing Scott had overheard his boss Deaton talking to the Sheriff about. Something about traces of human DNA mixed in with all the animal saliva. Human DNA, that didn’t belong to the still unknown victim.

Stiles had racked his brain about that piece of information for days, driving Scott insane. Sure, he too thought it was strange, but unlike Stiles, Scott wasn’t quite so obsessive. He had more important things on his mind … or more precisely another person.

And in a way Stiles could see the attraction the new girl represented. Allison might not be his type – wrong gender and all that – but she was without a doubt very pretty. In fact, she was a natural beauty, using only a hint of makeup to underline her features. And despite her friendship with Lydia and Jackson, she was pleasant company too.

Her Dad, on the other hand, was another story.

So far Stiles has seen Chris Argent just a couple of times at school, whenever he came to pick up his daughter. Which was pretty much every day. But even from those brief encounters Stiles could tell that there was something off about the man.

Sure, at first glance he seemed to be a nice guy, obviously very protective of his sixteen year old daughter, the way he scowled at practically every male student looking at Allison. But despite that there was something in his eyes, and in the way he moved and held himself that gave Stiles the heebie-jeebies. And even though he was used to guns due to his father’s profession, Stiles thought that Mr. Argent’s professional work was a bit unusual.

Why would someone who deals with firearms, legally or not, settle down in a place like Beacon Hills?

Thankfully, Stiles didn’t spend much time with Allison outside of school, which meant his contact with her family was practically nonexistent. Nevertheless, Stiles was curious to find out more about the Argents. But something told him that poking around their lives wasn’t a good idea.

But then again, a bad idea has rarely ever stopped him on acting.

 

\+ + +

 

Anyhow, it wasn’t the major events – the dead girl and the Argents arrival in town – what has kept Stiles on edge for the last three weeks. No, it was the little, seemingly insignificant things that were slowly but surely causing him to doubt his own sanity.

It started really small.

Like for example the window in his room being wide open in the morning, although Stiles could have sworn he’d left it ajar in evening. There hadn’t been any storms, which might explain the pushed open window. He would have closed it completely if that had been the case.

And then there were the increased canine footprints in the yard, even though no one in the neighborhood had gotten a new dog. Stiles might not be a veterinarian like Scott’s boss, but he was an excellent researcher. It took him only a few seconds to learn it couldn’t be anything else but a dog. The only other conclusion would have been a wolf. But according to wildlife service there haven’t been any wolves in this area for years. Anyhow, whosever dog it was, at least it was well behaved. So far, Stiles hadn’t found any poop on the entire premises, or dug holes, containing bones or other treasures.

Even though neither of the Stilinski men was very fond of gardening, they both kept the backyard nice and clean. Partly in memory of Stiles’ mom, who loved spending time pottering around the garden, but mainly because it was expected. It certainly wouldn’t look good if the Sheriff’s garden resembled a dumping ground.

But that wasn’t all. In fact, Stiles might have ignored those occurrences, if it hadn’t been for the stuff that kept disappearing around the house. Not money or something valuable, sentimental or otherwise, but simple things like a few pieces of clothing and food.

Strangely enough, John Stilinski hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

Not because he wasn’t observant. That would be really weird, with him being a police officer and all that. Being perceptive was part of the job description. Sure, he sometimes turned a blind eye to Stiles’ misdemeanors, but never at work. In fact, he took his job very seriously, doing overtime more often than not, leaving Stiles to take care of the household duties. Like doing the laundry, going grocery shopping and cooking … which was probably why Stiles was the only one noticing that some of the food started to go missing from the fridge and pantry, along with a few clothes from the dryer.

At first he chalked it up to his ADHD. Stiles was the last one to deny that sometimes the disorder caused him to overdo things – literally and figuratively – but given that he rarely ever forgot to take his medicine, not to mention that he kept a close eye on his father’s eating habits, he knew something was wrong.

But what fool would break into the Sheriff’s house to steal food, or anything else for that matter? Not that there had been any signs of breaking and entering … which left only one conclusion. It had to be someone who had free access to the house.

Needless to say, accusing his father of stealing food didn’t go over very well.

Okay, that was actually a complete understatement.

Convincing the Sheriff to stick to a low fat diet in order to keep his blood pressure in check was already a daily challenge, for both of them. Even though Stiles didn’t look like it, he could eat for four. Of course, he loved greasy food, especially curly fries, but to make easier for his father, he had banned all junk food from the house. The only exception was his homemade chocolate chip cookies. The recipe had been handed down to him by his grandmother, from his mother’s side. Every two or three weeks Stiles made a batch, storing them in the pantry. Usually they lasted two weeks, but not lately.

“Are you serious? You actually think I sneak into the pantry at night and steal your cookies.” His dad sounded both insulted and amused.

“Well, I didn’t eat them, which only leaves you.” Stiles reasoned, not backing down one bit.

“Oh, does it now, Sherlock. What about Scott? He practically lives here.” John shot back.

It was obvious that he wasn’t searching for an excuse, only pointing out another, reasonable explanation for the disappearance of the cookies. And he certainly had a strong point there. Scott’s mother Melissa worked as a nurse at Beacon Hill Memorial Hospital, more often than not taking the late shift. And unlike Stiles, Scott didn’t know how to cook, which was why he was a regular guest at Stiles’ home. And he was known for his sweet tooth.

“Maybe you are right …” Stiles allowed, somewhat ruefully.

“Good. And maybe next time you should consider all the possibilities before accusing innocent people.” His father scolded, effectively closing the subject.

Stiles didn’t bring up it again. In fact, he had never been fully convinced that his father was the culprit. John Stilinski knew how serious his son took the whole healthy diet thing. If he was cheating – and Stiles was sure that he did every now and then – he certainly wouldn’t do it at home.

Of course, Stiles also interrogated his best friend. Naturally, that conversation went over better, seeing as Scott wasn’t nearly as smart, or scary, as his father. But as far as finding answers went, his best friend equally denied the theft. Which meant Stiles was left none the wiser.

Maybe he really was going crazy, seeing things that weren’t there. It wasn’t like he actually took stock of all the food on a daily basis. But still, even without verifiable proof he was sure someone was regularly helping himself to their food. And whoever it was, he or she was smart enough not to clean out the whole pantry or leave any evidence behind, like a trail of bread crumbs or dirty dishes.

Smart, but certainly frustrating …

And then there was also the subject of the clothes that had gone missing. So far it was just two of his old, worn-out t-shirts, a couple of socks, and some sweat pants, nothing major. Stiles wasn’t angry about the loss of those items, just confused. And unlike the other subject, he didn’t mention the missing clothes to his father, fearing his reaction. Yelling fire without probable cause was never a wise decision. And he certainly didn’t want to worry his dad needlessly. Or end up being grounded … which was a strong likelihood after the whole food-stealing debacle.

Instead Stiles decided to carry on, like nothing was wrong.

Right until the second murder happened. Or animal attack as the police classified it.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles loved his jeep.

It was the greatest gift he’s ever gotten, the most precious thing he owned, his baby … and the reason he wasn’t dependent on taking the school bus any longer. Which was a great plus.

But even though it’s been a while, about 9 months or so, he could still remember how shifty the bus driver Garrison Myers had been. At the time Stiles hadn’t given it much thought, dismissing it to the stress of the job. Driving a school bus full of teenagers surely wasn’t the easiest profession. But on the other hand, Myers had always been grumpy, sometimes downright rude.

Stiles would never forget the morning the man had snapped at Erica Reyes. For no reason.

So what if the strap of her bag ripped right when she was getting on the bus? It’s not like she had done it on purpose. Kneeling in the mud, hastening to gather up all the things that had spilled out, Erica had kept on apologizing, over and over again. Unnecessarily, in Stiles’ opinion, and apparently completely in vain, given the bus driver’s reaction.

Myers hadn’t shown any sign of compassion whatsoever, just snapping at her to hurry the fuck up. Actually, he’d stooped so low to call her a dimwitted bitch.

That’s when Stiles stepped in, shouting at the driver to shut it. Not a wise move, as it turned out. They both had been kicked off the bus, forced to wait for the next one. They’d barely made it to first period on time. For Stiles not an unusual occurrence, but Erika had been extremely distressed that day.

Stiles never regretted speaking up for the blonde girl, though.

For one, he couldn’t stand people who took advantage of weaker personalities or making fun of them. It struck to close to home. And secondly, Erica was anything but stupid. In fact, she was among the top ten of the best students at Beacon Hill High. Unfortunately, no one seemed to care. Well at least no one among the student body, except for Stiles, of course. He always kept a close eye on his competition, so to speak. But to most of his classmates good grades were a sign of weakness, a flaw. Even Lydia, who was well on her way to make valedictorian, was hiding her intelligence behind too much make-up and a rather unpleasant behavior. Or rather she tried.

Being a nerd meant being an outsider. But unlike Erica, Stiles had lacrosse. Well sort of. Sure, he spent most of his time on the bench, but still. Lacrosse was the only sport that truly mattered at Beacon Hill High. Being a team member – active or not – had spared him a lot of grieve, and still did.

But besides being a nerd, and for obvious health issues not into sports, Erica was really shy. Stiles doubted she had even one person at school she could call a friend. He would have offered his friendship in a heartbeat, if it hadn’t been for the obvious crush she had on him. He didn’t want to give her false hope.

But he still kept an eye out for her. Whenever she was in trouble, he helped out … mostly without her knowing it. Nerds just had to stick together. Or at least, that’s how Stiles saw it.

Anyway … despite his less than nice demeanor, Myers hadn’t deserved to die like that, or at all. He might have been a prick, but being mauled by who knew what or whom … well that was just nasty.

It didn’t really come much as a surprise that the police enforced a night-time curfew after the second murder. Yes, unlike everyone else, including the entire police force, Stiles classified the killings as murders. He was convinced there was something else going on than some wild animal going on a rampage. Seriously, what animal would climb into a school bus to kill the driver?

And seeing how stressed out his father was, trying to make progress in his investigation, not to mention trying to prevent any further fatal attacks, Stiles thought the least he could do to help, openly, was to abide by the new set of rules. He came home after school, did his homework, and housework, rarely leaving the house after dark. And unlike Scott, Stiles didn’t have a reason to sneak out at night.

But when he went out after sunset, to go over to Scott’s for some bro-time or do some last minute grocery shopping, he felt like he was being watched. With everything going on – the killings and the weird happenings at the house – Stiles was extremely vigilant. Some might say paranoid. But then again, better safe than sorry, right?

Stiles simply couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. He never saw anyone or anything suspicious … except for one time.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles was on his way back to his jeep after picking up a few movies and some popcorn for a lone movie night. It wasn’t that late yet, still two hours till curfew, but it was already dark.

He was still grumbling to himself about the bad selection when he heard something behind him. A rustle of leaves, a snap of twigs, but no footsteps. Stiles turned around anyway, mostly driven by instinct. Unfortunately, the parking lot in front of video store was very dimly lit. He was lucky to make out his own car, which was in fact the only vehicle there. But other than that, he couldn’t see anything. Just darkness and shadows.

Stiles rarely acted on gut instinct. His decisions were mostly based on logic. Mostly.

But this time was different. His instincts were practically screaming at him, that he shouldn’t linger. And for once he actually listened. Stiles threw his purchases into his car, quickly scrambling behind the wheel. But just before he was able to turn the key in the ignition, he heard another sound. A low growl … not truly menacing, but not very comforting either.

Deep down Stiles knew he should take a hike, but his curiosity trumped his instincts. He stopped mid-action, staring outside the window, trying very hard to make out anything in the dark. He still couldn’t see much. He was just about to give up and leave, when the thick bushes nearby moved, and a dark figure came into view.

Due to the lack of light, Stiles wasn’t sure what it was. But it was big, huge even. Definitely taller than a mountain lion. The creature didn’t come closer, just standing there, watching Stiles like it was studying him. And Stiles couldn’t do anything else but stare back.

Back into bright, magnificent blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles still didn’t know what finally broke the spell between him and the … animal, creature, beast.

Whatever it was, he felt very relieved when he was finally released, able to take off. Well, actually he took flight, driving straight home. He made it just in time, right before his Dad’s check-up call.

Needless to say, Stiles didn’t watch any of the movies that night. But he ate most of the popcorn, with extra butter, while doing what he always did, when he had no clue what was going on, but felt the compulsive need to quench his thirst for answers.

Research.

Stiles stayed up all night, spending hours surfing the Net. Thankfully it was Friday and he didn’t have to get up early the next day. He browsed website after website, but in the end his search wasn’t very fruitful.

But then again he didn’t have much to start with.

Sure, he did find quite a few animals with blue eyes, most of them too small to fit the blurry picture still stuck in his head … except for some members of the canine family. And going by the sound the creature had let loose, it had to be a dog or a wolf. And a huge one at that.

He sincerely hoped it was just a lone, wild dog. Wolves usually ran in packs, which meant if there was one, there had to be others. And that wouldn’t be good news.

Of course, Stiles didn’t tell anyone about this weird encounter. Anyway, what was there to tell? A strange dog, wolf or whatever, had growled at him, but otherwise hadn’t done anything. It hadn’t moved, it hadn’t pounced, just had kept its distance, staring at him with those strange, vibrant blue eyes.

For a moment Stiles considered that this animal, whatever it was, might be responsible for the killings. But he disregarded that thought almost immediately. Why would a vicious animal attack two people, but leave him unharmed? True, there wasn’t much meat on him to chew on, but then again, Garrison Myers also was – or rather had been – on the scrawny side. And from what he’d picked up while spying on his Dad, the same could be said about girl from the woods.

So the shortage of juicy meat couldn’t be the reason.

Maybe he didn’t smell right. Not appetizing enough. Somehow Stiles could behind that train of thought, especially considering his romantic track record. Although … unlike Greenberg, he always showered twice a day. He might only use deodorant instead of some overpriced cologne. Jackson swore on it, but Stiles was pretty sure any animal would be appalled rather than enticed by those artificial fragrances. He might never have owned a dog, but he had done enough research to know that canines were very sensitive about scents. And apparently very particular too …

Anyway, Stiles tried to put the incident behind him, forget about it, but apparently his unconscious mind wasn’t on the same page.

 

\+ + +

 

It didn’t come really as a surprise though, that Stiles started to have dreams about those blue eyes.

It wasn’t that he had a preference when it came to eye color. But those eyes had been very captivating. Stiles had a lot of other words to describe them too … pretty, beautiful, even gorgeous … but he would never voice them out loud. He might be gay, but he was still male. Girls used such words, not boys.

In the beginning he dreamt only about the eyes, following him through his dreams. He could rarely remember what the rest of the dreams were about, but he could clearly recall dreaming about them.

But then, after the first few times the owner of the eyes took shape.

Stiles has seen wolves at the zoo once, but they had nothing on his nightly visitor. Its fur was completely black, and very thick. The first time Stiles was startled, but only for a moment. Like the night in front of the video store, he simply wasn’t prepared. But just like in reality the wolf kept his distance, cocking his head to one side and then the other, scrutinizing him from top to bottom.

Even though it was an animal, Stiles felt embarrassed, more self-conscious than he’s ever felt in real life. And that was saying something, considering the stuff he’s gone through since his kindergarten days.

The wolf was sizing him up, licking his muzzle repeatedly, but not because he was planning to pounce and make Stiles his next meal. Somehow he could tell that the wolf had no such interest in him … quite the opposite actually. The way he was looking at Stiles, it almost felt … sensual, like he was trying to undress him with his eyes.

Sure, Stiles has seen and read his fair share of porn, even some kinky stuff, but never something related to bestiality. He didn’t know if his unconscious was trying to tell him something, or if it was just his imagination running wild. He guessed it was the latter. Although, considering his non-existent love life both would make sense, but he wasn’t that desperate. He simply hasn’t met the right person yet, someone he was truly interested in. There have been a few crushes, here and there, but nothing serious.

Still … to be completely honest, he kinda liked the way the wolf was staring at him. It made him feel wanted. And what did it matter that he felt that way? After all, they were just dreams. No harm done. No one needed to know about it. This was just between him and his imaginary friend.

With each occurring dream the surroundings also became clearer. Almost always, they would meet in the woods. The Beacon Hill woods to be exact. Stiles recognized the clearing at once. He and his mother used to go there to go mushrooming. Or collect wildflowers. Or sit on the huge tree stump and having a picnic.

He’d loved it. In fact, he’d loved spending time with his mother, no matter what they’d been doing. Claudia Stilinski had always been very outdoorsy, never staying in the house for long, always seeking fresh air instead of spending her days cooped up in the house. And sometimes Stiles had the same urge, to be out and about, to run through the woods, to take a walk through the park or just be on the lacrosse field.

Stiles always held the wolf’s gaze, never making a move, even though he was itching to run his fingers through the thick fur. Despite the fact that he sometimes got the distinct impression that he was able to influence the outcome, he also knew that dreams could be extremely unpredictable. He was afraid what might happen if he made the first move. There was always the chance that he was just misinterpreting the longing in the wolf’s eyes. Maybe he’d scare him off by acting impulsively. And Stiles certainly didn’t want that to happen.

It felt like he had the same dream a thousand times. But it’s been just three days since the first real encounter. (Yes, after the numerous dreams, he was certain it had been a wolf.)

On the fourth night the wolf finally made a move. Surprised, but mostly elated, Stiles stayed put, allowing the wolf to come to him. Unlike his previous experiences with dreams, the wolf didn’t just magically appear at Stiles’ side. He slowly put one paw in front the other, until he was finally standing next to Stiles.

The wolf was big, reaching to his hip. He leaned slightly against Stiles, who took the gesture as an open invitation, starting to pet the wolf. The fur felt just as thick and silky as it looked, and with each passing second Stiles got bolder. The wolf showed his appreciation by growling, low and deep. Actually, it sounded almost like a purr.

Stiles had no idea what made him do it, but he suddenly dropped to his knees, hugging his new friend. The wolf clearly hadn’t seen that coming. And how could he? He was just an animal. And this was just a dream. He went rigid for a moment, but recovered very quickly. He turned his head, sniffing at Stiles’ neck for a second or two, before licking him right across the cheek.

Stiles wasn’t appalled or freaked out, giggling like a school girl. “What the hell took you so long?”

That’s when he woke up.

 

\+ + +

 

More than a week has passed since his first, and only, encounter with the actual wolf. Stiles has kept his eyes and ears open for any news, but so far there haven’t been any sightings of his wolf or the actual culprit. For some reason he was sure those two weren’t one and the same.

He kept dreaming about the wolf, though. Nothing much happened between them, well, other than the wolf demanding a thorough belly rub from Stiles each and every night. But Stiles didn’t mind. Quite the opposite, actually. He loved petting the wolf, or snuggling with it. Of course, even though it was just a dream, he knew the whole thing was silly, foolish even. But so far the wolf hadn’t shown any sign of its natural behavior. He didn’t snap, didn’t even snarl at him. Every now and then he would let out a huff, like he was somewhat irritated by Stiles’ endless chatter, but mostly he would just lie next to Stiles or sit at his feet, enjoying the show of kindness and affection, and listen.

And that was one of the main reasons why he literally sought out the wolf in his dreams, because in real life Stiles didn’t have anyone who was giving him his or hers undivided attention.

Not anymore.

Sure, his father would talk to him if something was up. But he didn’t take the time to just sit down with his son and have a simple conversation. He used do that, but for the last several years he has been burying himself in work. True, with his promotion to Sheriff came a heavier workload, but still. Sometimes it seemed that he was avoiding his son on purpose.

Stiles knew that his father loved him, that he would do anything to protect his son, no matter what. But there was no point denying the truth. Since his mother died things have been different. It wasn’t that John blamed Stiles for his wife’s death. How could he? She died of cancer. But losing her had shaken up the Stilinski household to its very core. Claudia Stilinski had been the clue, keeping the family together.

After her death, Stiles had barely uttered a word for two weeks, which was saying something, considering he was usually such a chatterbox. But even though his mother’s death had been inevitable – stage 4 cancer, chemo not working and surgery no longer an option – he simply hadn’t been prepared. And how could he? How could anyone? Her death had left a gaping hole. And so many unanswered questions …

Needless to say, things haven’t been easy for the first few months, but over time the Stilinski men managed to find their way back to a semi-normal life. The sheriff chose his work to focus on and distract himself, and Stiles had found a confidant in Scott. He might have only gone through his parent’s divorce, but still. He could somewhat relate to the feeling of sudden loss.

Naturally, every now and then, Stiles hit rock bottom, loosing himself in his grief. The sheriff had similar reactions, usually around anniversaries … Claudia’s birthday, their wedding anniversary, Stiles’ birthday, and of course on the day of her death.

They both had different ways to deal with their grief and the memories. John would drown his sorrow in alcohol, while Stiles, not necessarily due to his age, would seek out new projects, something to obsess about.

Like trying to solve seemingly unsolvable murders … and make sense of his nightly visitor.

But even though he thoroughly enjoyed them, Stiles could tell they were starting to take a toll on him. It almost seemed like he was still half awake during those dreams. He’d never experienced anything like that before. Sometimes he could swear that he could actually feel it when he ran his fingers through the wolf’s fur or when he was licking Stiles’ hand.

But that was probably just wishful thinking …

 

\+ + +

 

It was Monday and Stiles was late, again. He barely made to his locker in time to put away his jacket and get out a book he needed for his first class.

Scott came up behind him. “Man, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, and a good morning to you, too.” Stiles grumbled, stuffing the book into his bag, before slamming the locker door shut.

“I mean you look good … well not good, like I’m into you … just good … you know what I mean …” Scott babbled, waving his hands in his typical ‘forget-I-said anything’ manner.

Stiles grinned at his friend’s blatant unease. Sure, he knew that Scott was okay with him being gay. But sometimes he still managed to act and sound like a fool.

Not that the time he first told Scott about his preference for men went over much differently.

“Does that mean you want to kiss guys?”

That had been Scott’s first reaction. True, a valid question, but kinda redundant.

“Yes, of course.” Stiles had replied with a smirk. “Among other things …”

“Well, that’s, um …nice.” Scott had stammered. Admittedly, he’d sounded repulsed by the mere thought of him kissing another boy. Or god forbid, do something more. And he’d certainly looked like it too. But Stiles had chosen to simply ignore it, chalking Scott’s reaction up to surprise, confusion and nerves. Especially nerves, going by his need to add, “But you know I’m not like that, right?”

“Relax, Scott. I know you are not gay.” Stiles had rolled his eyes at his friend’s unwarranted worry. “And even if you were, you are so not my type. No offence.”

“None taken, I guess.” Scott’s ability to sound both disappointed and relieved had caused Stiles to laugh.

“No worries, I still love you.” Stiles had assured, quickly adding, “As a friend.”

“That’s good. Well, what I mean is … I don’t mind that you are gay.”

And with that the subject had been closed.

And it had stayed that way. Not that there have been many occasions where the subject could have come up again, but still. Sometimes Stiles wanted to talk. To gush over a guy he found attractive. The way Scott was gushing over Allison, practically nonstop.

He may be okay with Stiles’ sexual preference but he surely wasn’t keen about talking about it.

Unfortunately, there was no one else. Aside from Scott nobody knew that Stiles was into guys. Well, at least not officially. He wasn’t actually hiding in the closet, so to speak, more like protecting his privacy. Of course, there was his Dad and he was planning to talk to him about it soon. He wasn’t afraid of his reaction, but until now there hasn’t been the right time for that kind of topic … or the right motivation.

“You are late again.” Scott stated, accusingly.

“Well, at least some things never change.” Stiles commented dryly, shrugging. Without another word he turned around, deliberately making his way down the hallway. He knew he was being evasive, at best, but then again, he could hardly tell his friend that he’d overslept because he had desperately been holding onto a dream.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott yelled after him, hurrying to keep with his friend’s fast strides. He was clearly taken aback by Stiles’ cold and distant demeanor.

“Nothing, never mind … I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” Stiles answered, telling more or less the truth.

“Okay …” Scott conceded. He didn’t sound completely convinced, but he didn’t push the subject either. Along with two other students they entered the classroom, taking their seats right before the bell rang. Mr. Harris clearly was disappointed that they’ve made just on time. Stiles had no idea what the guy’s problem was, but for some reason he had it out for them. And it has always been like that, even though they have never done anything to provoke this antagonistic behavior.

“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?” Scott whispered, leaning across his table.

Fortunately Harris was otherwise occupied to notice. He’d found victim after all. Greenberg had tried to sneak in, failing miserably. Stiles didn’t particularly like the guy. In fact, no one did. But the way he got dressed down by Harris right now … well he definitely felt sorry for his teammate.

“We only have half a day thanks to that teachers’ conference thing. We should do something.”

Stiles was surprised by the sudden change of subject, but glad, for more than one reason

“I have no plans whatsoever. Are you telling me that you are free for once?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusing, but he always had a hard time hiding his true feelings. And they both knew it. There was no point denying the truth. It had been quite a while since they’ve hung out, without Stiles being the third wheel.

Scott actually blushed, clearly feeling guilty for neglecting his duties as a friend. “Yes. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure.” Stiles agreed eagerly.

“Cool.” Scott beamed.

Unfortunately, they didn’t get the chance to go through with their plans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what the name of Derek’s father is, so I made one up myself. I hope you don’t mind ;-)

Stiles knew it was a foolish idea.

If going into woods alone was a bad plan before, it was an even worse one now.

Once was chance, twice was coincidence, third time was a pattern. That’s what he’d learned from his father. But even though Stiles was already convinced that all the weird incidents were following a pattern rather than being mere coincidence, something told him that he was safe during the day. Or at least, that was what he surmised. Both murders had occurred during nighttime. Which was why he felt (relatively) safe venturing into the woods on his own, at half past one in the afternoon.

Scott was at home, studying. Once again he’d failed a test and this time his mother had grounded him. Stiles had offered to help, but Scott had said that no one was allowed to come over. Stiles didn’t truly believe him, especially not after witnessing Allison saying goodbye to her boyfriend, followed by a whispered, “See you later.”

Stiles didn’t even consider calling him out on his blatant lie. Sure, he had been pleasantly surprised by Scott’s unexpected invitation to spend the afternoon together, but to be completely honest, he hadn’t truly believed they would go through with their plans, even before the whole grounding thing.

There has been a time – not that long ago – when Stiles would have convinced Scott to simply defy his mother’s instructions and sneak out. And he would have easily succeeded at it too. But things have changed, considerably.

Now he didn’t want his friend with him on this outing.

For one, with all his conspiracy plots and whatnot Stiles had managed to pretty much alienate himself from Scott over the last couple of weeks. And secondly, what exactly could he tell Scott? That he was looking for a wolf, he only met once in real life but kept seeking out in his dreams? Fat chance! Scott would probably think that he’d completely lost his mind. In the past he might have been more open, but now, with his new focus in life, Scott was just like him … preoccupied with more important things.

Stiles took his jeep, driving as deep into the woods as he could, until he was forced to make the rest of the way on foot. But he didn’t mind. He would have walked the whole way, but given the circumstances, he thought it wouldn’t be such a good idea. What if he had to get away really fast? He was no snail, but not a cheetah either.

And just to be safe, he’d packed a hunting knife and a pepper spray, both borrowed from his father’s closet. Maybe it wouldn’t do him much good, in case he would get attacked by a predator, but at least he was somewhat prepared.

The same could be said for his outfit. Instead of his usual light sneakers, he wore his hiking boots, which were heavier but gave him much needed support while walking through the woods. After the last night’s rainfall, the ground was muddy and somewhat treacherous. He easily would have slipped wearing his usual footwear. He’d also changed into some old jeans, but kept on his favorite hoodie. It was red. Maybe not the best choice of color, but at least it was dark, not bright red.

The air was clear and fresh. It was about sixty degrees, not completely atypical for October, but usually it was about ten to fifteen degrees warmer. Stiles didn’t mind the lower temperatures though. In fact, he liked summer and winter equally, as well as the seasons in between. He loved to bath in the sun, even though his tan didn’t show it. The few times he’d actually seen snow, far away from Beacon Hill, he’d made sure to make the most of it. He’d spent hours playing in the snow, until his lips were blue and he was chilled to the bone. But he’d never complained. There was still a picture on his nightstand of him and his mother making snow angels, right next to one with him and his father building a snowman. It was the last time they had spent a vacation together, as a family …

But Stiles also enjoyed this, the smell of fresh rain still clinging to the air and the surroundings. And the peace and quiet. In fact, there were hardly any noises. Except for the cracking sounds he made, whenever he stepped on a twig, and the rustling of the leaves, moving in the wind. Every now and then he could also hear some birds chirping. But other than that it was quiet.

Eerily quiet.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles had no idea what made him stray from the path, why he chose to go right even though he knew the body had been found near the lake. He knew the way there. He and his father used to go fishing there when he was a child. Not something he’d enjoyed very much, what with the waiting, sitting still and being quiet, but he’d gone anyway, each and every time.

But even though he has never been there, Stiles also knew where the other path was leading to.

The Hale property.

Stiles doubted anyone has been there in the last six years. But then again, even before the fire people had avoided that area of the Beacon Hill woods. The Hales were known to be very private, and very secretive. But maybe the latter was just Stiles and his obsession with conspiracy theories and all things out of the ordinary.

True, they had kept mostly to themselves, but that had probably more to do with the remote location of their home, than anything else. The Hale children had gone to the same schools as the rest of the Beacon Hill kids. They had been part of the community just as their parents, Jason and Talia Hale.

Sure, neither of them had worked in town. Jason Hale had been a carpenter, specializing on restoring old furniture. He’d been partners with Mr. Owen, who still owned a small workshop on Baker Street, but he had worked mostly from home. And Talia Hale didn’t have a job at all, other than being a mother. Although considering all the kids living in the house, that was probably a fulltime job. And still, whenever there was a shortage of staff at the kindergarten, the library or the hospital, she would fill in, volunteering to help out in any way she could.

A remarkable trait of character, not just according to Stiles’ standards …

He could still remember the first, and actually only, time he met Talia Hale in person. Of course, Stiles had seen the Hale’s matriarch around town before, but for some reason he’d never had any contact with her.

It was at the town’s annual fair. Stiles used to attend this event every year with his mother. But given the fact that she’d just died a few months prior, it was understandable that he had reservations to take any part that year. But then he remembered how much fun they used to have, and he changed his mind in the last minute.

That year Stiles made his first contribution at the bake sale. Several batches of his grandmother’s cookies. Even though he’d burnt a few, they were a great hit. He’d already sold most of them, when Talia Hale came over, leaving her own stand in the hands of her sister-in-law.

“Those are delicious.” She said, and clearly meaning it, not just going by the way she was licking her lips. She was by far his best customer, buying the last remaining cookies, thirty in total. In fact, she looked rather disappointed there weren’t more left. “I’d like to get the recipe.”

“I’m sure you do.” Stiles replied, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling very proud. He’d never baked anything on his own. He’d always had help, until now.

“I would trade my cheery pie recipe.”

Unsurprisingly, Stiles was tempted by the offer, very, very tempted. He loved that cake, but in the end he still declined. “Sorry, no can do. It’s a secret.”

For a moment Stiles could have sworn her eyes changed color from hazel to bright red. But it was gone just as quickly, which was why he dismissed it as a mere trick of light. Instead of feeling affronted by Stiles’ behavior, Talia Hale smiled warmly, approvingly even. “I understand. Keeping secrets is important. And so are family traditions.” Stiles nodded, not truly understanding the meaning behind her words. Feeling embarrassed about the whole situation, he hurried to occupy himself with packing up his things. Sure, he was out of baking goods to sell and was already planning to leave, but right now he was rather looking for an excuse.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Stiles froze, nearly dropping the tray he was holding. He slowly turned around, facing Talia Hale once more. She didn’t look at him with pity, like most people. Her face showed nothing but love and compassion. Stiles was thrown. She might have known of him – what with him being a police officer’s kid – but she didn’t know him. Why would a strange woman act in such a way?

Going by the knowing look on her face, she could clearly sense his hesitation, his ever growing discomfort, but she still reached out, laying a hand on his shaking one. He had no idea how she did it, but the simply gesture helped him to calm down considerably. And even though he was still very confused by the whole thing, he was very grateful. He certainly didn’t want to have a panic attack right then and there. Having a freak-out in private was one thing, but in public, under the watchful and judging eyes of numerous people … that was another thing altogether.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, someone who just listens to you … our house is always open for you. Especially if you bring some of those cookies with you …” She winked at him, and then, without another word, she left, returning to her own stand, joining her brother Peter and his wife Claire.

Stiles stared after her, completely stunned by the unexpected, but clearly genuine offer. Only when his eyes met Peter’s he quickly averted his gaze. There was no compassion in his eyes, just suspicion. Stiles hurried to pack up his stuff, never daring to look in their direction again.

He went home that day, with a small fortune in his pocket – for a ten-year-old – and an aching heart and head. He’d thought about Talia Hale’s invitation for days, struggling to make a decision. But in the end he didn’t get the chance to visit their house, because a week later the unthinkable happened …

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles climbed up a rolling hill, through some bushes, and there it was … the wreckage that used to be a house and a home. He had to swallow hard, remembering how many people had lost their life that day. It didn’t take much to imagine their screams, their pleas for help. But nobody came to their rescue.

Out of ten people only two had survived, by sheer luck. The eldest children had gotten themselves into some trouble, both ending up in detention that day.

“Luck is just another word for fate.” His mother used to say.

Stiles never took much stock in things like that, but this once, he had to agree with her. If it weren’t for the headmaster’s strict regime, the entire Hale family might have been wiped out.

Naturally an investigation had been initiated, but closed pretty soon after. Stiles hadn’t thought about it in a very long time, but he could still remember like it was yesterday how furious his father had been about the way the investigation had been handled.

Unfortunately he hadn’t been in charge. Not yet anyway, but on the fast track getting there. At the time Michael Evans had been the sheriff, a good man, sure, honest and respectable, but according to Stiles’ Dad doing things too much in a hurry, sometimes in a lax way. He was sixty seven when he retired, a few weeks after the terrible tragedy, finally making room for John Stilinski to become the leading police officer. But by then it was too late. The fire inspector had ruled the whole incident as an accident, rather than arson like his father had assumed.

Now that Stiles thought about it, the whole thing was indeed very bizarre. The Hale family had lived in seclusion for years. He was sure they had taken every precaution, every step to ensure that their house was safe, especially with so many children living there. True, a fire could start under the most unlikely circumstances, but to spread so easily and fast, that no one was able to escape, that was more a sign of arson than an accident.

Very weird indeed … and certainly a good reason to look into it further. Thankfully, his father kept copies of some case files on his computer at home. Without a doubt the one about the Hale House fire was among them. And given the fact that John Stilinski wasn’t very skilled with computers, Stiles knew that deciphering the access code would be a cakewalk. True, he could ask his father to just give him the file. And there was a good chance he would give it to him, but not without providing a reason, and a convincing one at that. Sheer curiosity wouldn’t do the trick, Stiles knew that, but he could hardly tell his Dad the truth. In fact, the Sheriff would be furious if he knew where Stiles was right now.

‘Keeping secrets is important.’ Talia Hale’s words echoed in his mind, and Stiles couldn’t agree more. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.’

 

\+ + +

 

Even though there wasn’t much left now, Stiles could still image what the house had looked like before the fire. Two stories high, with big windows, and a porch leading all around the house. The structure still looked stable enough, but Stiles didn’t dare to go inside. But to be honest that was more for sentimental reasons than out of caution. Even now, six years later, Stiles felt like he was walking on a graveyard.

He took slow and deliberate steps, letting his eyes sweep across the property. Everything seemed to be untouched, only showing signs of neglect and decay.

Except for one thing.

A small patch of land to the left looked different. The soil there wasn’t covered with fallen leaves, but freshly dug up. It looked way too smooth to be done by an animal.

Clearly someone had been here, very recently. Stiles moved closer, eager to investigate further. He’d never given it much thought before. But maybe he should follow in his Dad’s footsteps and become a police officer. He certainly had the right kind of qualifications – keen eyes, intuition and a deep desire to uncover the truth. But still … he knew his talents would be wasted in the police force. He might not have a clear idea of what he wanted to be, but that what’s college was for. Try and find out what you can be. He could hardly wait.

The closer he came, the more he realized what the size and shape of the disturbed area reminded him of. A grave. Not an unusual leap of conclusion, considering the place, but certainly a creepy one. Did someone actually come here to bury something … or God forbid someone?

Stiles shivered at that thought, looking around for clues. There were no tire tracks, no footprints, except for the ones he just left behind. If there had been any evidence, it was gone now, washed away by last night’s rain. But that didn’t stop him. Exercising caution certainly has never been one of his strong suits. Stiles moved closer, feeling even more intrigued than before. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew he was led here for a reason, and he wasn’t going to turn tail and run now, not before he got some answers.

At first Stiles couldn’t detect anything unusual about the dug-up area. It was plain and simple, just soil. But then he noticed a single plant at the head end, or foot, depending on the point of view. Unfortunately botany has never been one of Stiles’ particular interests, which was why he could not tell what kind of plant it was. It looked like a flower, somewhat like lilac. But he knew those grew on bushes, not on the ground.

Whatever it was, it certainly seemed out of place, like it hadn’t grown there, but had been planted in that specific place for a reason … almost like a substitute for a gravestone. Stiles kneeled beside it, carefully stroking the blossoms. He leaned in, taking a quick sniff. The smell wasn’t repulsive but not appealing either.

Stiles was completely engrossed in his study of the plant, that he didn’t notice that he’d gotten company.

“What are you doing here?” An unfamiliar, deep voice suddenly cut through the silence.

Stiles was so surprised, he almost fell on his behind, catching himself just in time. He slowly got on his feet, wiping his hands on his trousers, before slowly turning around.

Even though he hadn’t seen him in six years, Stiles immediately recognized the person standing before him.

Derek Hale.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might have wondered why Stiles knew Derek from school, considering the six year age difference between them. I know that High School in the US is usually only 4 years, from 9th to 12th grade. But since Beacon Hill is such a small town, they have no middle school. At least not in my story …

Stiles’ first thought wasn’t ‘Damn, I’m busted’.

No, it was ‘Damn, he turned out nice’.

It’s not that Derek Hale hasn’t always been good looking. Even at the age of ten Stiles had been able to notice that, along with quite a few girls. But as far as he could remember, Derek hadn’t dated anyone back then. Or at least not anyone from school.

“What are you doing here?” Tall, dark and handsome repeated, sounding even grumpier than before.

True, initially Stiles had felt bad for trespassing on his property, but now … not so much. Derek’s scolding tone of voice was more than a little irritating. The only person allowed to speak to him this way was his father. And even then Stiles rebelled, each and every time. No matter what, he certainly wouldn’t back down now.

But it wasn’t just the chiding that didn’t sit well with Stiles. It was also Derek’s posture. Standing there, a few feet away with his legs slightly apart and his arms folded against his chest, and, to top it all off, a very disapproving look on his face. Actually, that was the worst. For one it didn’t suit him. It made him look … sour. But more importantly it made Stiles feel like a child. He might be six years younger, but he was still almost of age.

Stiles straightened his back in defiance, raising his head, glaring right back at his opponent. “I heard you the first time.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Derek unfolded his arms, taking a few deliberate steps forward, effectively closing the distance between them. As much as Stiles appreciated Derek’s physique – his strong features, his muscular legs and arms, not to mention his abs – he felt a little intimidated by his rough demeanor. But there was no way he was going to admit that, ever.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Derek smirked, arching one of his thick eyebrows. “Your heartbeat is telling a different story.”

“Yeah, right.” Stiles snorted. “Like you are able to hear that.”

He was right about it, though. His heart was actually beating quite a bit faster than normal, but there was no way he could determine that without using a stethoscope or laying a hand on his chest. Not that Stiles would have minded either one or the other, quite the opposite actually. He would have gladly volunteered to be the patient, as long as Derek was the doctor in that scenario.

‘Like that was ever going to happen … but one could dream …’

Hopefully unaware of Stiles’ wanton thoughts, Derek rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not … but that’s not the issue here.”

“Which is what?” Stiles shot back, already knowing the answer.

“You are trespassing.”

“Well, that’s not my fault. I just lost my way.”

As excuses went, it was a very lame one. Stiles knew that. And going by Derek’s expression, he didn’t buy it either. But given the circumstances, it was the first thing that came to his mind. 

“You are lying.” He growled, obviously running out of what little patience he’d had to begin with. “Do us both a favor and leave.”

“Or what?” Stiles challenged, knowing very well that he was tempting fate. But he just couldn’t help himself. His father always said that his mouth was would get him into some real trouble one day. And maybe he had been right about that all along.

“You really don’t want to find out.”

Derek certainly meant what he said. To tell the truth, it was obvious that he was fighting to stay in control, not just going by the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands. There was also a strange glint in his eyes, one that Stiles had witnessed only twice before – once with his mother and shortly after with his uncle. Maybe that was something that ran in their family. In Talia’s case Stiles had interpreted it as approval, with Peter it had been the complete opposite. And with Derek it seemed to be a combination of both … which made him none the wiser.

Stiles didn’t know what it was – maybe his gut feeling, maybe his intuition, maybe just a glimpse of hope – but something told him that Derek wouldn’t actually resort to violence if he refused to heed his warning. But even so, he didn’t want to stick around to find out what might happen if he was wrong. True, Derek wasn’t that much taller, maybe an inch or two, but he was most certainly physically stronger. No way, Stiles would stand a chance against him.

Without another comment, snide or otherwise, he moved past Derek and took flight. Only when he was about a mile away, he dared to look over his shoulder, checking if he was being followed. But he couldn’t see anything but trees and bushes. To be honest, Stiles was a little disappointed, but he didn’t linger to wait if Derek would change his mind and pursue him after all. Instead he hurried to get back to his car. Forgotten were his original plans – finding the other half of the body and his wolf. All he wanted now was to get home as fast as possible. Not out of fear or anything along that line, but because he suddenly had a new project.

Finding out everything there was to know about Derek Hale.

 

\+ + +

 

It was about five thirty when Stiles finally pulled into the driveway in front of his house.

He was starving and a little exhausted. But most of all he was disappointed. He just spent four hours in the woods, and yet his little outing hadn’t been very fruitful. Well, in the sense that he hadn’t gained any new insights. If anything, he’d only ended up with more questions. Questions that needed to be answered, but not right this moment …

His father would be home pretty soon, having the early shift for once. Thankfully, Stiles had made it in time. But dressed as he was right now it would be very hard to hide the truth from the Sheriff. One look and he would easily figure out where his son had spent the afternoon. And Stiles couldn’t have that, which was why he didn’t stop at the kitchen and get something to eat but went straight upstairs to his room.

Deciding to take a quick shower before getting changed, Stiles stripped down to nothing. After all the running he felt the need to freshen up, before putting on clean clothes. Standing under the hot spray of water, he had a hard time keeping the shower short and efficient. Not truly surprising, seeing as the shower was one of his favorite places to jack off. And especially now, with the new fodder for his spank bank, he had plenty to think about, so to speak.

Just imagining Derek’s strong upper arms and his big hands was enough to make him hard. He knew it wouldn’t take much for him to come, just a few firm strokes. But he knew this wasn’t the right moment to give into his hormonal urges. For one, Stiles preferred to take his time, teasing himself, very thoroughly, until he simply couldn’t take it anymore. But more importantly, his father was due to come home any second. Just the thought of being interrupted by his parent, was enough to kill his boner.

So instead he reached for cold tap, quickly soaped and rinsed, finishing his shower in record time. And just as he started to get dressed, Stiles could hear the cruiser turn into their driveway. By the time he made it downstairs, his father was already in the house, taking off his jacket and locking away his gun.

“Hi.” Stiles exclaimed, using far too much enthusiasm than considered normal, especially it hasn’t been that long since they last saw each other.

“Hi.” John replied, eying his son suspiciously. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing.” Stiles replied with a shrug, playing dumb. “I’m just not used to you being home so early, that’s all. I’m planning to start on dinner. Are you hungry?”

“What do you think?” John snorted.

Stiles laughed, somewhat awkwardly, but mostly he was relieved that his father didn’t grill him further. “Didn't Nora share her food?”

“Not after you gave her specific orders not to.” John grumbled.

Stiles didn’t even try to hide his grin. Officer Nora Williams was known for her cooking skills. Her food was always delicious, but sadly often full of calories, therefore unhealthy, which was why Stiles had a serious word with her when he decided to put his father on diet. She’d promised to keep his father away from her food, no matter what, and so far she hadn’t broken her vow, much to the Sheriff’s dismay.

“No worries. I’m making lasagna tonight.”

Stiles hadn’t planned to cook something big, but he was feeling generous, especially after deceiving his father. It was a low fat recipe, of course, but his father loved it nonetheless. Seemingly appeased by his son’s bribery, John excused himself to change into something more comfortable than his uniform.

Feeling rather hungry himself, Stiles didn’t lose any time, quickly gathering all the ingredients he needed. Fortunately, he’d cooked this meal numerous times before therefore he didn’t have to really concentrate on what he was doing. If he’d actually had to consult a cook book, he probably would have screwed up the meal, ending up ordering pizza. And that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs, even though he was very fond of the cheesy stuffed crust.

Considering what happened earlier that day, it wasn’t really a surprise that Stiles’ thoughts were anywhere but in the kitchen.

Not for the first time he wondered if Derek was actually staying at his old home. He truly hoped that wasn’t the case. Not just because it was unsafe, which it was, despite the obvious firm ground structure. First and foremost Stiles thought it was sad. Well, more than sad actually. To be literally surrounded by the ruins of one’s life must be terribly devastating. He might not know Derek very well, but he surely felt sorry for him. Stiles knew what it felt like to lose one family member, but to be robbed off almost one’s entire family in one fell swoop … that was a fate he didn’t even wish on his greatest enemy.

Only Derek and Laura had survived, leaving town shortly after the tragic event. Understandably, given that they had lost not only their family but also their home. According to rumors they had relocated to the east coast, somewhere in Vermont or Maine, but nobody knew for sure exactly where. Not truly surprising, considering that the Hales had kept to themselves, for the most part. On the other hand, Stiles doubted that anyone had bothered to find out where they went and how they were doing.

But that was no longer an issue now. Derek was back and he looked okay. Well more than okay, actually he looked scrumptious … but only on the outside. It didn’t take a genius (like Stiles) to figure out that he was still hurting, big time. One look into his brown eyes was enough to realize that. Stiles didn’t blame him. He’d probably looked much the same for the first few months after his mother’s death. Even though the circumstances had been completely different, the pain of loss was without a doubt equally unbearable.

Even now, years later, he could catch that exact same look on his Dad’s face, or on his own in the mirror. Not very often, but every once in a while, especially around certain dates. Why should Derek feel any different? Returning to his former home, seeing the destruction, being reminded of the worst day of his life … no wonder he’d been in such a bad mood. Sure, trespassing on his land might have also been an explanation for his less than courteous behavior, but Stiles was sure that the main reason was something else entirely.

Maybe Derek was here to determine the damage, to see if there was a chance to rebuild the house. Or maybe he has been coming here on some sort of yearly pilgrimage, to mourn his losses. Maybe the grave-like patch was some kind of symbol …

Whatever the reason, right now Stiles had a far more pressing question. If Derek was back, did that mean that Laura was here too? He hadn’t seen her. But maybe she had been hiding from sight, somewhere in the house. Not that she had any reason to do that. From what Stiles remembered about the eldest of the Hale children, Laura was very capable to take care of herself.

One time, she beat up two guys almost twice her size, without suffering any kind of injury herself. Come to think of it, that incident had been the reason why she and her brother had ended up in detention on the day of the fire. Derek hadn’t taken an active part, other than pulling Laura off her unworthy opponents. But the headmaster had deemed them both guilty. Stiles was sure that Derek had been very mad at his sister at the time. But in hindsight, he was probably glad, in a way. Both their actions had saved their lives.

Stiles thought about asking his father whether there had been any sightings in town, of either one of the Hale siblings. But that would have meant full disclosure, telling him about (pretty much) everything he’d seen and heard. The Sheriff would probably be sympathetic to Derek’s plight, but he would be far less understanding about his son’s decision to disregard the rules. And as things were right now, Stiles certainly didn’t want to take any chances. Which was why, he decided to keep the dinner talk light and casual, talking about mundane things, like everyday happenings, rather than approaching delicate subjects.

‘There is time for that later …’

 

\+ + + 

 

Another day passed before Stiles got a chance to check his father’s secret stash of files.

He had been right, though. Deciphering the password was a cakewalk. It took him only four attempts. When he finally figured out the right password – his mother’s name plus the date of his own birthday – he almost considered to give up and leave things be. Almost. But he was simply too curious, too invested already, to stop right there and then.

Unfortunately, he didn’t find much. Well, except for one interesting piece of information.

Before driving a school bus Garrison Myers used to be an insurance investigator. The very investigator, who had ruled the Hale fire an accident. Needless to say, Stiles thought it was very strange that Myers had changed careers shortly after. Really, who in their right mind would trade such a prestigious position for a job with minimal wage and no perspectives? And especially for no apparent reason according to the Sheriff’s own, private notes.

There was no mention of it in the official file, of course, since the case had been already closed by this point. But apparently John Stilinski had deemed that detail just as suspicious as his son that he thought it was worth pursuing once again. According to the time stamp the file had been opened and edited very recently, just two days after Myers untimely demise. Unfortunately, the Sheriff hadn’t found any new evidence, just making a short note, like he was planning to look into it further at a later point. Maybe he knew more, but just hadn’t gotten the chance to update the file. Considering how busy he was lately, it was a valid explanation.

Nevertheless, since he was already planning to do his own investigation, Stiles copied all files regarding the Hale fire on his memory stick. Sure, he could have easily sent everything to his laptop via email, but he didn’t want to leave any evidence behind, at least not anything too obvious. Before leaving his father’s study he even made sure everything was in its place, just like he found it … the mouse, the keyboard, even the chair.

‘Better safe than sorry …’

 

\+ + +

 

Unfortunately, Stiles didn’t get the opportunity to dig up more information on the issue.

Due to an important upcoming game Coach Finstock had insisted on extra training hours. Which were of course mandatory, be there or be off the team. No one doubted the Coach’s determination to follow through with his threat, not even Greenberg.

Stiles didn’t want to wait until the weekend. Something told him that time was of the essence, that if he didn’t act soon, something bad was going to happen. But perhaps that was just his impatience talking. He still went to lacrosse training each and every afternoon, despite his uneasiness, because he didn’t want to raise any suspicion, from anyone.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing.” Scott grumbled, fidgeting with his lacrosse stick.

“You’re not the only one.” Stiles remarked, dryly.

“Hey,” Scott protested, for once catching on right away. It was rather rare that he understood sarcasm. “I mean, what I’m doing here, sitting on the sidelines. Don’t tell me, you don’t want to be out on the field?”

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugged.

“Maybe? We’ve been on the team for what … two years now … and all we do is sitting on the bench, watching the other guys have all the fun. It’s not fair.” Scott whined.

“True.” Stiles agreed, evenly. A couple of weeks ago his response would have been much more emphatic, but with everything going on his priorities in life have changed, dramatically.

“What’s with the single word responses? You usually have far more to say.” Scott commented, sparing his friend a quizzical look. There was no accusation there, only curiosity, but Stiles still went right on the defensive.

“So what? It’s not like things will change all of the sudden.”

Scott recoiled at friend’s less than friendly reaction. “Dude, what’s wrong with you today? Come to think of it, you’ve been acting very strange for days.”

“Like you had time to notice …” Stiles shot back, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Oh, I get it. It’s my relationship with Allison. Is that what’s bothering you? I thought you were okay with it. I thought you like her.” Scott pointed out, adding, “Are you jealous?”

“Please,” Stiles snorted. “You know as well as I do that I’m not jealous.”

“Okay,” Scott conceded, sounding anything but convinced. “Then what is it?”

For a moment Stiles considered coming clean, telling his friend how much it did bother him that he spent pretty much all his free time with his girlfriend. But even though it was certainly a significant reason for his bad mood, it wasn’t the main one. And what good would it do to put all the blame on Scott? Their relationship was already strained. No need to make things worse.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just grumpy because of my sleeping issues. It seems to get worse. Too much on my mind, I guess.” Stiles explained, being rather evasive, sure, but telling the truth nonetheless. It was obvious by Scott’s expression that he wanted to ask for more details. And even though Stiles appreciated the sentiment, he couldn’t have him asking the wrong questions. Hiding things from his best friend on purpose was one thing. Lying outright to his face was another thing altogether. Which was why, he decided to escape the situation, literally.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to take a leak.” It was a lame excuse, sure, but Scott seemed to buy it.

As usual Coach Finstock didn’t pay them any attention, which meant that Stiles could sneak away for a few minutes without being caught. Not that he cared. Lacrosse was so low on his priority list right now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is little more interaction in this chapter …

Stiles quickly rounded the bleachers, making his way straight back to the main building.

He just passed through the door, when he ran into Erica. Literally. In fact, he almost knocked her over, barely managing to catch himself, and her, in time. But despite his effort, she still lost hold of the things in her hands, dropping her heavy pencil case and thick notebook. Numerous loose papers fell out, scattering across the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Stiles apologized, profoundly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes … I’m fine.” Erica panted, clearly feeling dazed from the sudden impact. “I should have paid more attention where I was going.”

“Actually that makes two of us.” Stiles joked, trying to lighten the mood. It was evident that the blonde was blaming herself for the incident, and he couldn’t have that. In rare cases, Stiles was happy to share the blame. And this was certainly one of those times. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a mere question of interest. Given the time, all classes were already out, and no one was (supposed to be) at school anymore. Sure, aside from the lacrosse team, some of the after-school clubs tended to stay well after class, but none of them used the back entrance. It only led to the lacrosse field. And since Erica wasn’t a team member, or anyone’s girlfriend, she had no reason to go out that way.

“Nothing.” The blonde mumbled, ducking her head.

Needless to say, Stiles was anything but satisfied with her answer, but he let it slide. After all, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Honesty these days. Why should he expect more from others?

Erica behaved as ever – overly shy and self-conscious – but Stiles got the distinct impression that this time it was more than mere embarrassment that rattled her. She acted more like someone who had been caught doing something wrong, or naughty. But neither one nor the other was typical behavior for her, as far as Stiles knew. She didn’t say anything else, just getting on her knees to gather her belongings.

Unlike the majority of his classmates Stiles didn’t ignore the situation, or the mess he was partially responsible for, simply mirroring her position on the ground without even thinking twice. “Here, let me give you a hand.”

“No, it’s fine. I got it.” She responded, clearly not wanting Stiles’ help. Actually, she sounded rather offended by his offer. But naturally Stiles decided to simply ignore her objection.

“Erica, please, let me just help you.” He insisted, reaching for a few sheets next to his feet, but suddenly stopping mid-action. He hadn’t meant to study the papers, but even just by glancing at them for a split second, the topic was very hard to miss. He stared at the papers in his hand for a few moments, before looking back at his blonde classmate.

“It’s not what you think …” Erica stammered, blushing furiously.

“It’s not?” Stiles countered.

More intrigued than anything he picked up a few more sheets. Each one was filled with drawings. Some were nothing more than hasty doodles, barely recognizable, while others were almost as good as photographs. But they all had one thing in common. The main subject.

“It’s me … sitting on the bleachers. And this one … I wish that actually happened. I would make a great goalie. Oh, I remember that day. Scott tried to spin the stick on his finger … fool … like that would work.” Stiles chuckled at the memory. “Erica, these are great. I had no idea you were into drawing.”

“You really think they are good?” She whispered, clearly not believing his blatant approval.

“Are you kidding? You’ve got some real talent.” Stiles emphasized, smiling at Erica, who was blushing even more than before, but this time for a completely different reason.

“Thanks.” She replied, sounding surprised, but mostly pleased, but still not completely reassured. “So you are not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Stiles frowned.

“Well, you have to admit, it’s kinda weird … me drawing you.”

“Maybe, but you told me it’s not what I’m thinking.” He countered, adding with a small, impish smile, “Or was that a lie?”

“No.” Erica granted, seemingly relaxed enough to answer Stiles’ smile with one of her own.

“Well, that’s it then … assuming that we are talking about the same thing here, of course. Otherwise it would be very weird indeed.”

“And kinda pointless considering you are gay …” She remarked, rather bluntly. It was obvious from her renewed flush that Erica hadn’t meant to actually say that out loud. Clearly, she suffered from the same affliction as Stiles, also known as foot-in-mouth disease.

“So you know.” It wasn’t a question, only an assumption. Putting two things together has never been an issue for Stiles. In fact, he was quite gifted at mathematics.

“It’s kinda obvious.” Erica shrugged.

Needless to say, Stiles had never imagined having a conversation about his sexual orientation with Erica of all people. Not that he doubted her integrity. Sure, she was an outsider, pretty much like him. She had nothing to lose, only things to gain. But he could tell that she wasn’t the type to use such information to her advantage.

“It is?”

“Well, not in the way you look, or dress, or behave …” Erica hurried to explain. “It’s just something …. I don’t know … something I can tell. Okay, maybe it has something to do with your behavior.” She added as an afterthought. “You certainly don’t look at girls the same way the other guys do … not even the pretty ones, like Amanda or Lydia.”

Amanda was blond and a cheerleader. No pull whatsoever. But Lydia … well to tell the truth, for a time there Stiles was convinced that he was in love with her. But in the end he’d realized that he was just attracted to Lydia’s intellect, not the person. Sure, he always knew he preferred people with intelligence. Not to mention the fact that he rather favored a nice, hairy chest and a long, thick cock over a set of big breasts and a vagina. But more importantly he also yearned for someone kind, considerate and selfless. Maybe Lydia had a heart – figuratively speaking – but she certainly didn’t show it to anyone. Or at least not to anyone but Jackson … if she even did that.

“And to be completely honest … you are not my type.” Erica confessed.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Stiles replied, acting all hurt and disappointed, but in reality he was glad that he’d misread her. “But I guess I can take solace in the fact that I’m your muse.”

Erica gaped at him for a second or two, and then all of a sudden she threw her head back and started to laugh. It wasn’t the kind of fake laugh you would expect from a teenage girl – shrill, giggly, over the top. No, it was the complete opposite. Rich, warm, slightly throaty – in a word … genuine. Stiles simply couldn’t help it but join in.

They both laughed so hard they collapsed on their asses, holding their sides, swiping their eyes, the whole shebang. But aside from the somewhat uncomfortable side effects, it felt kinda … cathartic. It was clear as day it had been quite a while for both of them, to let go, to simply enjoy the moment. No wonder it took them quite a while to calm down completely. When they finally did, they ended up sitting next to each other, casually leaning against the wall.

“Okay, let’s see what else you’ve got in your repertoire.” Stiles held out his hand in an unmistakable gesture. Without any hesitation whatsoever, Erica handed over her notebook and the few sheets she had managed to gather before Stiles had gotten his hands on them.

“Don’t you have to be at practice?”

“No, I don’t.”

It was probably the finality in his voice that prevented her to demand a reason. Stiles could tell that she was curious, but thankfully she didn’t press the issue.

Ignoring his own urge to explain himself, he started to flip through the pages. There were a lot more pictures of him. Some of them – much to Stiles’ delight – were featuring him as the star player of the lacrosse team, while others were detailed drawings of what had actually transpired.

But there were a lot of other motifs as well. For example a perfect, and somewhat cute, likeness of Scott and Allison, sitting next to each other at one of the library tables, their heads close together. It was easy to tell from that drawing how much they were into each other. But then again, you could practically catch diabetes from watching them in real life.

Stiles had to give it to her. Erica was extremely talented, and damn sneaky. No one, not even him, had noticed her studying pretty much everybody in school, for what seemed like months, maybe even years. She probably had more notebooks at home. But Stiles wasn’t weirded out by that fact. Sure, there were a lot of drawings of him and his classmates. But that was only reasonable. She, like every other student, spent half of her weekdays at school. And with everything going on here, she probably wouldn’t find a better place in Beacon Hills to indulge in her hobby, especially given the fact that she clearly had a preference for drawing people, not landscapes or still lifes.

At first Erica let him skip through the notebook without saying a word whatsoever. But the further Stiles got, she couldn’t help but make comments, every now and then. They joked about a few drawings, especially the ones containing Jackson or Mr. Harris. Concerning those two, they definitely were on the same page, agreeing almost simultaneously that they both were sons of bitches.

And naturally, the further Stiles got in the notebook, the more up to date the pictures were. Stiles didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary, just a few more pictures of him and his class mates, but of course that wasn’t the case. All of a sudden he stopped flipping through the pages, paying more attention to the subject matter. And for good reason …

“What the …”

“Oh, him?” Erica intervened before Stiles could even finish his sentence, leaning in to get a closer look. Going by her offhand response she was clearly misinterpreting his surprised reaction. “Yeah, he has been coming here for the last two weeks or so.” 

“Do you know him?”

“No … although he kinda looks kinda familiar.” Erica mused.

“What is he doing here?” Stiles wondered, not really meaning to voice the question out loud.

When he met him in the woods, by his rundown house, he’d gotten the clear impression that Derek was anything but sociable. Sure, with his exceptionally good looks he probably had no problem being the centre of attention anywhere, but Derek had struck him more as the lone wolf type than a party animal. But then again, being a loner wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A little strange perhaps, but it didn’t mean you were automatically a creepy stalker. Given the circumstances, it was certainly a funny thought, because both Erica and Derek fit that description. With Erica Stiles knew it wasn’t the case. But with Derek … well he definitely remained a mystery.

“Watching the game.” Erica replied, simply stating the obvious. She still hadn’t caught on Stiles’ state of mind. “Well … for the most part.”

“What do you mean?” He pressed, hardly able to keep his voice in check.

“Well, for some reason, it seems that he can’t take his eyes off you.”

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles did return to the pitch, maybe later then he’d originally planned, but he did.

Well, to be completely honest, he would have gladly continued his chat with Erica, if it hadn’t been for his little discovery. After that he’d literally fled the scene, giving Erica the same dumb excuse he’d used on Scott before. The only difference was he actually felt bad deceiving her, especially now that they’d made significant progress.

Sure, before he had reservations about pursuing a friendship with her – good, profound reservations, as far as he was concerned – but now things were different. Erica obviously knew about his sexual preferences and didn’t care. And clearly she’d never had a crush on him, either. Which, to be honest was the only reason why Stiles had decided to keep his distance. He might not have her drawing skills, but he was gifted in other areas. And they were equally matched IQ-wise … all in all, a good and reasonable basis to start a friendship. Especially now, with all the weird stuff going on, Stiles knew he could use someone to confide in, to share his thoughts and ideas with. And something told him that Erica might just be the right person fitting that job description.

Stiles didn’t go back to practice out of obligation or fear to lose his spot on the team. He couldn’t care less if that happened. Scott was right. Sitting on the bench each and every time, was depressing, and kinda pointless.

No, the one and only reason why Stiles went back was to see if Derek was lurking around. But of course, he wasn’t, or at least not as far as Stiles could tell. For all he knew, Derek could still be hiding in the shadows, somewhere between the surrounding trees. The thought of being watched by him was both unnerving and exciting.

“What took you so long?” Scott hissed.

“Stomach problems …” Stiles grumbled, sliding back onto the bench. He didn’t care whether Scott did believe him or not. But going by the nauseated look on his friend’s face, he probably did. Which was a relief, because it meant that Stiles didn’t have to lie about his run-in with Erica or their particular topics of conversation. That was something just between them.

“Well, just so you know, nobody noticed that you were gone.” Scott assured him, obviously very glad about that fact. Unlike Stiles, he still cared about his spot on the team, no matter how important that was. “But you’ve missed quite a lot.”

“You don’t say.” Stiles commented, dryly. He didn’t mean for it to be an invitation for him to proceed, but Scott certainly took it that way. And to keep up appearances Stiles patiently listened to his friend’s step-by-step recap of events.

Apparently Jackson wasn’t doing so great. And going by Finstock’s ongoing screaming, he still wasn’t satisfied by the team captain’s performance. In the past Stiles would have gloated right along with Scott, making snarky remarks and shouting helpful suggestions, but not today. Sure, he played along, nodding and laughing at the right time, but he didn’t make a comment whatsoever. And for some reason Scott didn’t seem to notice. He simply kept on talking.

True, guys weren’t known for their multitasking abilities. That was more a female trait. But Stiles – like so often – was an exception to the rule. He had no problem doing two, or more, things at the same time. He could pay attention to Scott’s incessant chatter, while simultaneously continuing to scan the surrounding area for Derek Hale.

Part of Stiles was glad that he didn’t spot him. Because honestly, what could he have done? Running up to him and confront the handsome bastard? Not likely! Such a move would be very hard to explain to Scott, or anyone else for that matter. No, Stiles planned to have that particular conversation in private. He wasn’t sure what to make of the whole stalking thing, but he knew – for some inexplicable reason – that Derek didn’t mean him any harm. If that were the case, he would have done something at the house, far away from any witnesses.

Keeping a low profile was clearly part of Derek’s MO. And so far he had been successful. Apart from Stiles and Erica, no one knew that he was back. Otherwise the news of his return would be all over town by now. Rumors like that would spread like wildfire in a place like Beacon Hills.

How he’d managed to stay under the radar was truly a mystery. After all, at the very least he had to leave the woods to get some food. Stiles didn’t even want to think about the other necessities – washing his clothes, having a nice, hot bath, not to mention a real bed. But maybe Derek was used to this kind of lifestyle. Although, despite his more than ten days worth of stubble and the haunted look in his eyes, Derek had looked neat and tidy, as in he wasn’t used to live in a ramshackle hut but in a nice, clean home, somewhere far, far away.

Anyway … it was rather interesting, if not funny, that of all the people in town, he and Erica were the only ones aware of his presence. Okay, Stiles knew for sure, Erica simply suspected. But still, it was strange, but probably for the best. They both knew when to keep their mouths shut. Most of the time … okay, when it really mattered …

Stiles let out a sigh of relief when practice was finally over. He didn’t wait for an invitation, grabbing his lacrosse stick and heading straight for the locker room. But only to get his clothes and bag, and nothing more. And why should he linger? He hardly had a reason to take a shower. Sure, even though he has never considered putting them on the field, Coach Finstock always included him and Scott in the warm-up training. And no doubt about it, the pre-practice drills were arduous and sweat-inducing. But after spending two hours just sitting on the bench, he didn’t yearn to freshen up. Or at least, not here, not right now.

Instead he hollered a hasty goodbye to Scott and hurried to get to his car. He made it home in record time, where he took a quick shower and changed into his usual casual wear, some sweat pants and a themed t-shirt. This one had Wolverine on it. Some might say that Hugh Jackman had turned into a sissy, losing all his manliness, what with all the theatre and singing he was doing lately. But Stiles begged to differ. Even in pair of gold pants, Hugh still managed to look hot as hell.

After reheating a piece of lasagna from the night before, he went back to his room, turning on his laptop. He really tried to concentrate on his homework, but it was no use. Stiles simply couldn’t get Erica’s last sentence out of his mind.

‘Well, for some reason, it seems that he can’t take his eyes off you.’

Maybe she’d said it with a slight twinkle in her eyes, but Stiles was sure that she’d actually meant it, and not just saying it to taunt him. In fact, he sincerely doubted there was even one spark of malice in the blonde girl. With her it was more like you get what you see … nothing fake or exaggerated, just a real, genuine, human being. Of course, he understood the need to dress up and enhance certain aspects, on occasion. But generally he didn’t care if every stand of his hair wasn’t in the right place. There were more important things to worry about than one’s look. He’d learned that the hard way.

Whether or not Erica was dead on with her assessment, was another question altogether. Stiles wanted to believe it. He really did. But seriously, why would Derek Hale, who could have anyone in the world, be interested in someone like Stiles? It made no sense, no sense at all. Okay, he wasn’t the ugliest tool in the shed, and he had certainly his brains working in his favor, but still. Derek was so far out of his league and most likely straight. No chance whatsoever … but that didn’t mean he wasn’t great spank material.

Grinning to himself, he finished his meal and his homework. Half an hour later John Stilinski came home. And even though he’d already had dinner, Stiles went downstairs to join his father. Maybe it was the look of hurt and loss in Derek’s eyes, or his own feelings of regret; he simply felt the need to spend time with his Dad. He put the last remaining slice of lasagna into the microwave, when the Sherriff’s cell rang.

“Stilinski.” John answered on the second ring. Going by the disgruntled look on his face the call was work-related. For a few seconds the sheriff just listened, getting the gist of things. Unsurprisingly, the news was not good. “You’ve got to be kidding … another one?”

While demanding more details, the Sheriff hastily slipped back into his jacket, grabbing his gun and putting it back into its holster. “Okay, I will be right there.” He ended the call, hanging up with a sigh. Then he turned around. “Sorry, son, I have to go.”

“Go where? What’s going on?” Stiles asked, unnecessarily. Of course, he already knew the answer.

“What do you think?” John scoffed, not even trying to hide the truth from his son. “There has been another attack.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think this chapter earns the rating … wouldn’t you agree?
> 
> In between the *** is a dream/fantasy sequence.

Stiles had a hard time falling asleep that night.

Not because he was worried about his Dad. Okay, he was worried, at least to some extent, like he always was whenever his father went to work. And given his profession it was a fairly reasonable concern. After all, you could practically find daily reports about police men, and women, getting hurt or losing their lives in the line of duty. Maybe not primarily occurring in small towns like Beacon Hills, but still, things could always happen.

But to be honest it wasn’t the worry about his father’s safety that kept Stiles up. No, it was his goddamn curiosity. His mind came up with countless scenarios, one worse than the other, imagining of what might have happened … and more importantly to whom.

So far the victims were a young woman and a school bus driver.

Obviously, he didn’t know anything about the first one, since her identity was still a mystery, even to the police department, but he kinda knew the second victim. The third could easily be someone he knew better or even cared about. And given his past experiences, Stiles couldn’t just sit idly by and wait … which was why the first thing he did after his Dad left was to make sure that Scott and his mother were okay.

Not to raise any suspicion he sent his friend a set of funny GIFs, something he used to do a lot in the past, but not so much lately. Scott answered a few moments later, letting him know that he found them hilarious, and also informing him that Allison agreed with him. Under normal circumstances Stiles might have found the fact that Scott was involving his girlfriend annoying, maybe even insulting, but right now. In fact, he was relieved. He might not share the same affection for Allison like Scott did, but he still cared about her, to some extent.

They texted a few times back and forth, mostly chatting about mundane things, but Stiles still managed to obtain relevant information. Apparently, it was Mrs. McCall’s day off. And Allison was safe at home with her parents. Not that he particularly cared about the Argent’s safety, but still, it was good to know.

The only other person Stiles wanted to get a hold of but couldn’t, was Erica. True, he didn’t have the chance yet to build a friendship with her, but he really wanted to. They’ve bonded, not unlike he and Scott had done all those years ago. And even though their connection was still new and tenuous, Stiles was sure that in time they could turn it into something even more meaningful than what he shared with Scott.

Or rather what he used to share with Scott, given the current tension between them.

Stiles couldn’t explain it. But somehow their bond already seemed to be stronger and deeper. Maybe it was because they had more things in common. Or maybe because he was kinda looking for a change in his life, something new and exciting. A challenge of some kind. He had no idea. But to tell the truth, he didn’t care.

‘Sometimes things are what they are.’

But unfortunately Stiles didn’t have any contact information, no phone number, no email address, nothing. Of course, he tried to find something online, but as expected Erica wasn’t part of any social networks. Sure, he knew where she lived, but the Sheriff had made it very clear upon his departure that Stiles wasn’t allowed to leave the house, under no circumstances.

“Lock up behind me, close all downstairs windows, and don’t even think about sneaking out.” 

For the first time, ever, Stiles hadn’t argued, but promised to follow the instructions to a T. And going by his facial expression, his Dad had believed him.

And his trust wasn’t misplaced. After storing his father’s intended dinner back in the fridge, Stiles made sure all the entrances and exits on the lower level were secured and locked. A little over the top as far as normal safety measures went, but whatever was going on, was definitely anything but ordinary. So … better safe than sorry.

Of course, Stiles tried to find out anything about the latest attack. But apparently it was too early. The local newspaper hadn’t updated its homepage since that morning. There was probably someone from the press at the sight right now, but knowing his Dad, he would try and keep a lid on the story, at least until the initial investigation was closed. No need to cause panic prematurely before all the facts were in, sorted and analyzed.

Stiles understood his father’s position on the matter, but that didn’t mean he liked it, especially now.

While browsing for information, he stumbled upon his recent search topics … the weird flower he found in the woods, the Hale fire, wolves … and suddenly he realized there was one more person he wanted to make sure was safe and sound.

But even if he had any contact information, he probably wouldn’t have reached out to him. After their little encounter in the woods Stiles doubted that Derek would be very happy to see or hear from him again. Although, according to Erica Derek had been observing him for days … which was more than weird, given Derek’s gruff reaction the other day.

Why would he seek out Stiles, when he clearly didn’t want him around? Maybe Erica misinterpreted the signs. Maybe he had been at the school just to visit his old stomping ground and watch the team practicing. It wouldn’t be that weird. Derek used to play lacrosse as well. But why would he stay out of sight, like a creepy stalker? Clearly, he didn’t want anybody to know that he was back in town.

‘Strange, very strange indeed …’

And then there was also his wolf to consider. Naturally, Stiles was even more worried about his safety, and for good reason. If it really was another animal attack, he could be in even more danger than any human. Not of becoming the next victim, but being used as a scapegoat. A few days ago, at the market, Stiles had overheard some people talking about going on a hunt. He didn’t know the guys. Actually, he has never seen them in town before. But one thing was for sure. They meant business.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much Stiles could do. Getting in touch with the wolf was even more unfeasible than getting in touch with Derek. Come to think of it, since the day he met Derek he hadn’t had a dream about his furry friend. Not even one. Weird.

But then again, maybe he just couldn’t remember.

 

\+ + +

 

For next few hours Stiles continued to ponder over the countless what-ifs and maybes, but naturally he didn’t come up with any answers, only more questions.

He finally decided to go to bed around midnight. Not just because he had to, but mostly because he wasn’t making any real progress. Considering his agitated state of mind he knew that it would take him quite some time to fall asleep, if he’d manage it at all. In fact, there was only one sure-fire way Stiles knew how to unwind.

Jerk off.

Despite the pent-up tension, getting into the right mood wasn’t that hard. No pun intended. Just remembering Erica’s accurate drawings was enough to turn him on. She’d managed to capture Derek’s essence perfectly, even from afar. His commanding stance, his incredible body, his strong jaw line, his sexy stubble, those deep, dark eyes and that kissable mouth … she’d caught it all. Stiles made a mental note to ask her for one of those pictures, to frame and hang up his wall. Or hide underneath his pillow. Or better yet, in the top drawer of his bedside table, next to his secret stash of lube.

‘A place for everything and everything in its place …’

Stiles began slowly, almost hesitant, like it was his first time. Which it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He’d started experimenting with his sexuality when he was twelve. Not exactly an early bloomer, but not a late one either. And to be completely honest – if only with himself – his fantasies had often starred Derek, even back then. The younger version, of course, but still, the dreams had been very interesting. Revealing might be another word to describe them. Not to mention educating and incredibly satisfying … well at least as far as his own preferences were concerned.

But for some unknown reason the frequency of those particular dreams had significantly decreased over the years. Not the theme per se – that would be very weird and utterly unhealthy – but the object. Maybe when the real Derek had vanished, and never returned, the dream version of him had lost its fuel, its source of inspiration. First Derek had just become kind of blurry, until the day he was completely gone, replaced by faceless persons.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Stiles suddenly realized how much he’d missed Derek. And not just as his favorite object of desire, someone to fantasize about. He couldn’t explain it, but since the day in the woods something inside him had shifted. Like a missing piece of puzzle that had turned up, lost between the pillows on the couch, finally completing the whole picture.

Stiles had no idea what it meant.

He felt equally fascinated and irritated by Derek. But still, why would he care about him, one way or the other? He was practically a stranger to him. And probably just in town for a few more days, before vanishing again. Strangely enough, that particular thought caused Stiles’ heart to ache and his stomach to knot uncomfortably. It took a few minutes of practicing his breathing exercises, to make the strange, yet familiar feeling (read: panic) go away.

He needed a distraction right now, not more things to ponder or worry about.

Stiles preferred to sleep in just his underwear. But it was way too cold now, especially at night with the window open, so he always added a t-shirt … which turned out to be a nuisance at the moment. And yet, Stiles didn’t pull it off completely, just pushing it up, out of the way. He had figured out pretty early on how sensitive his nipples were. And considering what he’d read online, it had come as quite the surprise. Generally, guys weren’t that responsive, at least not as much as girls. But he liked playing with his nipples, rolling them between his thumps and forefingers, twisting them until it hurt, all the while pretending it was some hot guy putting his mouth on him.

Just like now.

In his fantasies Derek didn’t rush things either, but took his time to worship his upper body, very thoroughly. He used his lips, tongue and teeth, alternating between kissing, licking and biting. And every now and then he’d just rub his face across his chest. Stiles shuddered at the thought of Derek’s stubble grazing his bare skin and stiff nipples.

Stiles didn’t have any facial hair. In fact, he had very little body hair, except for the usual places – head, legs, armpits, and of course, his groin. But even there it was sparse. Not that he was disappointed or something. He liked his body just the way it was. Lithe, but muscled in just the right places, with a perky ass and a nice cock.

No female attributes, whatsoever.

But he certainly had a thing for the bad boy type, the kind mothers warned their daughters about … a guy wearing a black leather jacket who was not necessarily taller than him but physically intimidating; with dark hair, a three-day stubble and a tattoo, or two; someone with deep, soulful eyes, who emanated that certain aura of mystery, darkness and danger.

There was no doubt about it.

Derek ticked all the boxes, including the point about the tattoo. Even though Stiles didn’t have any definitive proof, he was sure that Derek was hiding at least one underneath his clothes.

Just imagining Derek lavishing his chest with his tongue and teeth made Stiles hard and aching for release within seconds. Not even trying to fight his urges, he reached down to pull off his underwear. Sure, he could have just pushed his boxers down far enough to free himself. But he didn’t want any restrictions. He needed room to move his legs.

Without delay Stiles got rid of the hindrance, before settling back and closing his eyes. He didn’t go straight for the price, so to speak, but continued to tease himself for a few more moments before he let his hands wander downward. When he finally touched his dick for the first time (that night), he sighed in relief. Well, okay, it might have been anything but silent moan, but who cares? He was home alone, nobody there to catch him. To tell the truth, he was actually enjoying himself more when he didn’t need to keep quiet. No big surprise there, considering he had trouble shutting up in general. So why should situations like this be any different?

Stiles closed his right hand around his rigid shaft, not too tight, just using the right amount of pressure to keep it up. Not that he had any problem whatsoever with that. After all, he was a healthy seventeen-year-old. Getting it up was never the issue, coming prematurely, well that happened, on occasion … which was part of the reason why he didn’t kick it into high gear right away. Despite the fact that he was throbbing with need, Stiles didn’t want this to be over too soon. He knew the more he drew it out, the better and more intense his orgasms would be.

And he certainly needed a good knockout tonight.

Stiles slowly moved his hand up and down, using his precum as lubricant. As always he was already leaking like crazy, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not even close. He was going to need something more, and soon. He blindly reached over to his bedside table with his free hand and opened his secret drawer. Skillfully, he retrieved the bottle of lube he kept hidden there, never losing his rhythm, all thanks to years and years of practice.

Feeling the weight of the bottle in his hand, Stiles made a mental note to buy a new one soon. Something told him, he would need it. In fact, he was sure that he would empty this one within the next few days.

Very reluctantly Stiles removed his right hand from his cock, opening the bottle with his left hand to pour some of the lubricant into his right one. The liquid was cold and slippery, and some of it tripped over his hand right on his hard, aching cock. He hissed at the sudden thermal shock, while simultaneously shuddering in anticipation. He swiftly closed the bottle and stashed it underneath his pillow, close enough and easy to find in case he needed more. From experience he knew that too much was always better than not enough.

Stiles rubbed his hands together for a few seconds, spreading the liquid and warming it up before finally putting his right hand back on his erection.

“That’s more like it.” Stiles murmured appreciatively. He tightened his grip, moaning at the new, yet familiar sensation. Like this it was even easier to imagine Derek’s mouth on him. His lips were full and downright kissable, clearly made for giving blowjobs – if only in Stiles’ dirty dreams.

Moving his hand steadily up and down his shaft, Stiles completely surrendered to the pleasurable sensations, drifting deeper and deeper into his fantasy …

 

* * *

 

Derek looms over him, watching him with hungry eyes. Eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. Glow blue.

He cocks his head to one side and smirks. It’s not an evil smile. Well not completely. It’s that kind of smirk that tells you that the other person has a plan. And Derek certainly seems to have a plan. A plan he doesn’t feel the need to share but merely puts it into action.

Without a word, he crawls between Stiles’ legs, using his broad shoulders to make sure they stay wide open. 

Stiles expects him to be rough and demanding, but Derek surprises him. His touch is careful and tender, like he is afraid to hurt Stiles. He lingers for a few moments, caressing Stiles’ side and thighs. But Stiles can tell that he’s battling with himself. The way he trembles it’s obvious that Derek he wants to give into his urges. To take what he needs. What they both need.

“I won’t break.” Stiles promises, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. But Derek hears him and takes Stiles’ vow the way it was meant.

A go-ahead.

He doesn’t hesitate, hooking his arms under Stiles’ legs and grabbing Stiles’ ass with his big hands. He doesn’t linger there, even though it is clear from the appreciative noises Derek is making, that he wants to take his time to play with Stiles’ ass, probably for hours. And Stiles would like that too, but he is way too wired, too needy, too close already. What he needs right now is Derek’s mouth on his dick. Or his hands. At this point he doesn’t care which.

Derek just squeezes Stiles’ ass a couple of times, before finally resting his hands at his waist, effectively pinning Stiles to the mattress. Not that Stiles has plans to go anywhere. Not with Derek’s mouth hovering right above his leaking cock, his hot breath teasing him mercilessly.

Fortunately Derek doesn’t let him suffer for long. His mouth is hot and wet. He closes his luscious lips tightly around Stiles’ cock, bobbing his head up and down like a pro. Every now and then he pulls off to lick Stiles’ balls or swirl his wicked tongue around the head, before diving back in, taking Stiles’ cock deeper and deeper into his mouth.

Stiles wants to bury his hands in Derek’s hair and grab his head to fuck that sweet mouth with reckless abandon. But he doesn’t dare to move. Derek has made it very clear that he isn’t allowed to touch him unless he has been given permission. Stiles has never considered the whole power play thing before, but apparently he it’s one of his kinks. As hard as it is to exercise restraint, being at the mercy of someone as hot as Derek, is quite the thrill. In fact, it takes every sensation he experiences to new heights.

In a way – a very pleasurable way – it is almost too much, but certainly something he can see himself getting used to.

Derek keeps licking and tasting, never stopping to make those weird noises. It’s odd, but it sounds almost like a growl or a purr. Stiles doesn’t mind though. Right now, all he cares about is the pleasure Derek’s meticulous attentiveness is providing. In this regard he is pretty much like everybody else – single-minded and selfish. Sure, he wants to touch Derek too, but being at the receiving end of such thorough attention makes him quite the jerk. So sue him!

Realizing that Stiles isn’t going to disobey his order, Derek loosens his grip and removes his right hand from his waist. Stiles expects him to continue with his earlier obsession – fondling his chest – but Derek slides his hand downward instead of up. He follows the shape of Stiles’ ass, before finally brushing a finger over his hole. There is no pressure at first, just a soft caress. But it’s enough to trigger a whole body shiver, not to mention forcing Stiles to release a needy moan.

Derek pulls off, chuckling at Stiles’ reaction.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asks, sounding way too pleased with himself. Stiles really wants to slap the smug look off of Derek’s face, but then again he has every right to feel that way. Stiles is practically putty in his talented hands. He is already on the verge of coming, even though nothing much has happened yet, which is why he is glad for the little reprieve.

“Yes.” He admitted, panting like crazy.

“Just wait … it will get even better.” Derek promised. He looks just as wrecked as Stiles feels, but also very determined. Clearly, he wants Stiles to come just as much as he does.

Without any further delay Derek swallows his cock to the root. Stiles lets out a sound of shock and sheer pleasure. Feeling Derek’s throat close around his sensitive head is mind-boggling, almost too much to bear. But it is Derek’s finger breaching him that causes Stiles to lose it completely. And fast.

Stiles doesn’t get the chance to warn Derek, but apparently he doesn’t need to. Derek pulls off just in time, quickly replacing his mouth with his free hand. He only has to move his hand up and down twice, before bringing Stiles to an earth shattering release.

Stiles cries out as his ass tightens around Derek’s finger, shuddering all over. He can feel his cum splattering all over his bare chest, some of it even landing on his face. Derek doesn’t let go immediately, but continues to milk Stiles’ cock to the last drop, growling the entire time …

 

* * *

 

Stiles was sure, he blacked out for a second, or ten. He’d never experienced an orgasm like this – mind-blowing, all-consuming and very, very satisfying. He couldn’t imagine that the real thing (read: sex with another person) could be any better than this.

Feeling utterly exhausted, Stiles barely had the strength to clean himself up. But he knew how gross he would feel in the morning, if he didn’t take care of it right now. With a groan he reached over to his nightstand, but this time to retrieve a handful of paper tissues. With practiced hands Stiles made quick work wiping up the mess, chuckling when he discovered that some of his spunk had actually landed on his chin, just like it had in his fantasy. He’d never managed to achieve that. Not that he’d ever aimed for it. But then again, he’d never come this hard before.

Even though he was usually a very tidy person, Stiles was way too lazy at the moment to get up and throw the tissues into his wastebasket. Instead he just rolled them into a ball and dropped them next to his bed. Still a bit shaky, he retrieved his boxer from the end of his bed, quickly pulling them back on, as well as adjusting his t-shirt. Then he reached for his blanket, pulling it around himself, snuggling deep into his pillow.

Within minutes he was dead to the world.


	7. Chapter 7

John Stilinski came home around one in the morning.

Stiles had no idea if it was the fact that he’d just dozed off or his need for answers that woke him up, but in the end it didn’t matter. The deed was done. He was awake again.

“So much for tricking my mind and body into getting some rest …” Stiles moaned grumpily.

But as unpleasant as the sudden wake-up call was, his body was still tingling slightly with energy from his orgasm. It was bit strange considering it usually wore off pretty quickly but Stiles welcomed the sensation. It made the whole interruption thing a little easier to bear.

Going by the sounds the Sheriff was making, he was extremely fed up and very tired. For a split second Stiles considered getting up and confronting his father, pumping him for information, but he wisely decided against it. Knowing his Dad, he wouldn’t be very forthcoming in this particular mood.

Obviously assuming that his son was already fast asleep, John Stilinski didn’t try very hard to keep it down. Not that he actually stomped through the house or threw doors, but still. Stiles could tell exactly what his father was doing, despite the fact that the door to his room was shut and his father’s bedroom was down the hall. But next to a creaky backdoor and a really moody water heater, the walls in the house were rather thin … hence Stiles’ need to keep quiet during his private times.

As usual his Dad didn’t waste any time, quickly taking care of business. Stiles cringed at the thought of him wolfing down his food. But then again, he could hardly blame him. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have time for a proper dinner. For answering his call of duty at any time, no matter when, he certainly deserved some leeway … at least every once in a while.

Fortunately, John Stilinski wasn’t known for being very fussy when it came to his nightly routine. Of course, he bathed regularly, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it, spending countless hours in the bathroom, unlike most women, and some guys … like Jackson or Danny. He reduced things to the sheer essentials, taking quick, but thorough showers, brushing his teeth and running his fingers through his hair. In this, he and his son were pretty much the same. About twenty minutes later the sheriff finally called it a day. And just like that the house was quiet again, except for the occasional low rumbling of the pipes.

‘We really need to get that fixed.’ Stiles thought, drowsily.

Sure, he kept the house clean and the fridge stocked. He even took care of the garden. But aside from changing a light bulb or knocking a nail into the wall to hang up pictures, he didn’t posses any skills to fix things around the house. And unfortunately neither did his father.

Despite John’s leading position at the Beacon Hills police force money was rather tight in the Stilinski household. When Claudia got sick, hospital had bills piled up, abundantly and fast. The sheriff had no choice but to take on a loan. Even now, six years later, the mortgage still wasn’t fully paid off. Of course, Stiles had offered to get a job, to lessen the financial load. In fact, he’d applied for the exact same position Scott now held, helping out Dr. Deaton in his veterinarian office. It would have been just for a couple of hours a week, but his father had been against it.

“That’s not an option. I want you to concentrate on school. And you do enough as it is. You practically run this household all by yourself. No need to burden yourself with yet another responsibility. I will take care of the financials.” John had vowed. “And if things don’t work out, we can always sell the house and move into one of those new, smaller flats downtown.”

“No way. This is our home. Mom loved it. We are not selling the house, and that’s that.” Stiles had countered emphatically, leaving no room for discussion. “Whatever it takes, we are going to make this work.”

John hadn’t argued. Given the pained expression when he brought it up, it was plain obvious that he was just as opposed to the idea as his son. How could he sell the place where they had been at their happiest, a family? They still were, minus one person, but the memories of Claudia would always remain, no matter how much time would pass. Starting over, literally leaving their past behind might work for some people but not for the Stilinski men.

And they did make it work. Sure, they hadn’t been on vacation in years. And aside from Stiles’ jeep, no major purchases had been made. But thanks Stiles’ knack for numbers and figures, not to mention his ability to sweet talk people at the farmer’s market to give him the better deals, they had no problem getting fed, well and healthy. And some people in town, especially the older generation, were very fond of his father, which earned them some other sweet favors.

Like Hank Rogers, who was retired but didn’t mind to come over and take a look at their water heater whenever it was causing trouble.

He used to own a pretty successful business, before he sold it to his son in law. It was still the place to go to if you had any issues with your heating or sanitation facilities. But seeing as it was the only shop in town their services were also very pricey. But old Mr. Rogers did it for free. Well, not exactly. The sheriff paid him, of course, but it was more like a fee between friends. Sometimes Stiles chipped in, adding a bag or two of his famous cookies. So needless to say, it worked, for everyone involved. But still, it was only a question of time until a major repair was due, maybe even a complete replacement of the pipes, and then they would have no choice but to hire a contractor and a working crew to get it done.

Sure, being good friends with the former shop owner would certainly work to their advantage, but any major repairs were still going to cost a pretty penny. And most of the money they were able to put aside went straight into Stiles’ college fund. Which he truly appreciated, of course, but he still wanted to contribute something. He even considered discarding his plan to apply to Stanford and Princeton altogether, but his Dad wouldn’t let him. Actually, he insisted quite vehemently that Stiles would do his best to get into one of these prestigious schools, even though they both knew full well that the chance of that happening was rather slim. Not to mention the fact that the tuition would be steep, only manageable if he would get a scholarship, or at least a partial one …

But Stiles didn’t want to think about those particular issues right now. He had enough on his mind as it was. The sudden, albeit unintentional wake-up call hadn’t helped things either. Quite the opposite. Stiles spent the next hour or so, tossing and turning. In the end it was probably just the thought that his father would have woken him up if something truly terrible had happened that allowed him to fall asleep again.

 

\+ + +

 

Although he’d barely gotten any rest – three, four hours at most – Stiles still managed to wake up half an hour before his alarm was due to go off.

Usually he would get up at six thirty, seven at the latest. A quick shower, a set of fresh clothes and a bowl of cereal was pretty much all he needed to start his day. And an hour was quite enough to accomplish all that and make it to first class without stressing himself. True, sometimes he would get up earlier to finish homework or do some chores around the house, but today wasn’t one of those days. After the night he had, waking up earlier than necessary wasn’t pleasant. And certainly not deliberate. But apparently his subconsciousness had other plans than allowing the body to get the rest it badly needed.

Stiles could hear his father rummaging in the kitchen. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise; he was still scheduled for the early shift despite having lost yet another chance to spend a quiet evening at home. With everything that’s been going on lately it had become almost routine. A nuisance for sure, but inevitable, considering the position his father held.

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

Unlike Stiles John surely wasn’t known for quoting movie lines. In fact, the Sheriff often had trouble getting the things his son was saying, but this particular phrase got stuck in his mind. No wonder, he had been forced to watch Spiderman about twenty times.

But the clatter from downstairs wasn’t the reason why Stiles woke up this early. No, it was the urge to speak to his father (read: interrogate) before he’d leave for work. He let his chance slide once, but he wasn’t going to do it again.

Grumpy, but determined Stiles reached over to switch off his alarm clock and turn on his bedside lamp. Then he kicked back his blanket and got out of bed. He rolled his head and shoulders, stretching with a loud yawn, before shuffling over to the window to close it.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the artificial light from his lamp was enough. It hit the glass in the just right way, revealing a few strange, indefinable smudges at the bottom of the window.

“Great, just great. I just cleaned them!” Stiles exclaimed. “Stupid, fucking birds …”

Feeling even more irritated then before, Stiles turned around with a huff. His eyes landed right on the crumbled pile of tissues next to his bed, which in turn made him smile and blush. But it also reminded him that he really needed a shower. True, he’d cleaned himself up, but there was still some dried-up cum on his chest, and it was starting to itch like crazy. Stiles gathered up the tissues and dumped them into his trash can on his way to his own private bathroom.

After relieving himself, he got rid of his shirt and boxers, dumping them into the hamper. Then he stepped into the shower, sighing when the hot water hit his bare skin. Considering the never-ending issues with their water heating system, he was glad that his father had decided to take his shower in the middle of the night. Otherwise he would have been stuck with a lukewarm shower, like most days. Stiles made a mental note to call Hank, to take a look at the heater again. Hopefully, he would be able fix it without putting a dent into their savings.

Stiles wanted to prolong the shower, to enjoy the sensation for another ten minutes or so, but he knew time was of the essence.

Instead he made quick work cleaning his body from head to toe, even washing his hair. Sure, it was longer than it used to be, but not by much, just long enough to be considered an actual haircut. But it still wasn’t a time-consuming nuisance to wash it, even though he had to do it on an almost daily basis.

Of course, Stiles had seen the practicality in his buzz cut, but it made him look like a child, and he certainly didn’t want that. After all, he was almost eighteen. But more importantly he actually preferred his hair longer, being able to run his hands through it. Which he did, quite often, especially when he was on edge, which also happened very frequently … and as a result he often looked like he had ‘bed hair’.

Sure, generally speaking Stiles wasn’t very particular about his appearance, but having ‘bed hair’ for no good reason and being teased about it … well, that kinda sucked. That’s why he started to use hair product. He didn’t overdo it, though, unlike Jackson or Danny, using just enough to try and control his hair to some extent.

Still, the decision to say goodbye to his buzz cut and let his hair grow out again hasn’t been an easy one. Despite his (healthy) sense of vanity, it took him almost six years to see it through.

As a matter of fact, he used to wear his hair longer, similar like it was now. But that was a long time ago … before his mother got sick. Inevitably, the intensive chemo therapy had taken its toll on her body, hard and fast, causing her to lose a lot of weight and most of her long, beautiful, wavy hair. Not wanting to look like a scarecrow (her words, not his) she’d cut it off. Feeling completely helpless and desperate, Stiles had done the only thing he could think off to show his support. He’d followed suit, cutting his hair as short as hers.

And as a sign of mourning he’d kept it that way for the last six years.

Some may think the decision to let his hair grow out again was long overdue, but Stiles begged to differ. No one could put a time limit on grieving. It was only natural to mourn a loss like that, for as long as it felt necessary. And in whatever way, shape or form, as long as it was beneficial to whole healing process. Or at least that was what Ms. Morrell, the guidance counselor at Stiles’ school, kept telling him.

Of course, both Stiles and his father had gone to a professional grief counselor. They had to. Well, his father had to – a condition before he was allowed to come back to work. And even though Stiles hadn’t had the same obligation, he’d volunteered to go with him. As expected, it had been uncomfortable and difficult at first, but in the end it had been beneficial.

However, despite the fact that Ms. Morrell didn’t have the same credentials as the grief counselor, she had played vital role in Stiles’ recovery. Sure, she was a bit creepy, but also very insightful, sometimes even funny (if you were into the whole sarcasm-irony-thing). But more importantly she was far more in tune with a teenager’s angst and worries. Hence the significant progress he’d made with her rather than with Dr. Walker.

The guidance counselor/French teacher had helped him through all the fifth stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance – each one hard to deal with, but not impossible to master. And even though Stiles had reached that last stage quite a while ago, Ms. Morrell had insisted on their biweekly sessions.

And for the most part Stiles didn’t mind. They were concentrating on different topics now, like his college applications and lacrosse, but every now and then they would revisit the subject that had brought them together in the first place.

Needless to say, Stiles was still grieving for his mother. Not as much his father, but he was, just in a different way. Where he’d learned to move on and deal, his father was still actively mourning the loss of his wife … which in Stiles’ opinion was the only reason why he hadn’t found someone else. That and his crazy work schedule.

For a time Stiles had tried to set his dad up with Melissa McCall. With the knowledge and approval of his best friend, of course. In fact, they both had worked together, thinking it would be beneficial for everyone involved. Their parents would be able to move forward, start anew, and he and Scott would finally become real brothers. But despite their best efforts their plan hadn’t worked out. Whether it was due to the lack of romantic interest in each other, or because of some other reason, has never been answered. In the end, the boys had given up, thinking their parents weren’t just right for each other. Or simply not ready yet to move on.

But that hadn’t stopped Stiles from trying. Every now and then he would drop a hint, trying to get his father to just take a chance. Unfortunately, so far without success. It wasn’t that he was desperate to set his father up. After all he wouldn’t want him to end up with just anybody, seeing as he had to get along with that person too. But he could tell that his father needed it. Just like him. He needed someone to care about … but more importantly, someone who would take care of him. Sure, he did his best in regards to fulfilling the basic needs – taking care of cooking, cleaning, and so on.

But there had to be more to life than just working? Otherwise what was point of being alive?

 

\+ + +

 

Eventually Stiles finished his shower, rinsing the soap and shampoo off. With a contented sigh he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Careful not to slip, he reached for his towel, making quick, but thorough work drying off. Afterwards he dumped the damp towel into his hamper, making a mental note to start a machine after school.

Then he returned to his bedroom where he got dressed in his favorite pair of jeans and the first clean shirt he could find. After applying some gel into his hair, making sure it stuck the way he wanted, Stiles hastily gathered up his books and notepads, stuffing them into his back bag. Then he grabbed his red sweater and finally left his room.

A couple seconds later Stiles was downstairs. He carelessly dropped his bag on the living room couch and made his into the kitchen.

John Stilinski stood with his back to him, but he knew his son was there. Stiles hasn’t been exactly quiet getting ready, or coming downstairs. Quite the opposite actually.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“What? Is there suddenly a law against sharing breakfast with one’s parent?” Stiles retorted, sounding slightly miffed, but not actually meaning it.

“Very funny.” John snorted, turning around with the frying pan in his hand. Stiles’ mouth began to water at the familiar smell. His dad didn’t know much about cooking, but he did know how to make scrambled eggs. The sheriff stepped towards the table, dividing the eggs equally onto two plates.

“Of course, I’m happy to have breakfast with you.” He said, placing the empty pan into the sink. “If that’s all you want …”

“Well, a little conservation would be appreciated as well.” Stiles replied, not even trying to be subtle or sneaky in his approach. It was plain obvious what he was hinting at.

“Stiles, you know very well that I’m not allowed to talk about ongoing investigations.” John reminded his son sternly, refilling his coffee cup and taking a seat.

Stiles rolled his eyes at his father, quickly snatching a glass from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge, before joining his father at the table. Obviously, his dad had been expecting him to make an appearance sooner or later. Everything was already there – a couple slices of toast, butter, jam, even a bowl of fruits, cut into bits. Stiles’ heart clenched uncomfortably at the sight. Clearly, his father was trying to make up for the dinner he missed the night before. Like it was his fault …

For a moment there Stiles hesitated, wondering if he shouldn’t go through with his plan, fishing for information. But as always, his curiosity won out.

“Oh come on, Dad. You know I’m going to find out eventually.” He pointed out. “And it’s not like I’m going to blab about it to anyone. Just give me the cliff notes. Please?”

“Alright.” John conceded with a sigh, completely surprising his son. He usually didn’t give in that easily. “I guess you have a point. You will find out … very soon … especially since one of your classmates is involved. Well, two actually …”

Stiles almost choked on a piece of toast, dropping his fork on the plate. “Who?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not Scott.”

“I know. I texted him last night. He was home with his Mom. Who is it then?”

“Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin.”

Stiles’ face went white. Sure, neither of them was his friend. But still, he didn’t want them to get hurt, or killed. Well, okay, maybe a little hurt, as for Jackson, but not Lydia.

“They are both fine.” John hurried to reassure his son. Probably prompted by the shocked facial expression, he elaborated further. “Jackson’s gotten a bit scratched up, but otherwise he is fine.”

“And Lydia?”

“She is okay. Wasn’t even in the building when it happened …”

Stiles listened carefully through the sheriff’s recap of last night’s events, nodding along the whole time. “Was it the same thing? The same … animal?”

John huffed, clearly frustrated. Not by his son’s never ending questions, but by the lack of useful clues. “Seems like it. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to figure out what it is. And why it keeps attacking people … seemingly at random …”

“But there must be something … some evidence …” Stiles muttered, still trying to process all the information he was given.

“There probably is. We just haven’t found it yet.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. If he inherited one good trait from his father it was his determination. The determination to get to the bottom of things, no matter how long and hard the journey would be. “If anyone is going to figure it out …”

“It’s you?” John concluded.

“Maybe,” Stiles replied, mirroring his father’s smirk with one of his own. “But I was actually talking about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay ... couldn't be helped. I hope you enjoyed the update nonetheless.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Real life sucks sometimes. And so does writer’s block. I took some time to revise the previous chapters. You don’t have to read them again. I didn’t make any major plot changes, just some minor fix-ups.

Stiles meant it.

He truly believed that his father would figure it out eventually. Not without his help, of course, but that was beside the point.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t.

John Stilinski was all about following the police rule book, precisely and without exception. Always looking for irrefutable clues, fingerprints, DNA, anything as long as it was based on reason. True, occasionally he had a blind spot when it came to his son and his stupid stunts. But that came with the territory. A parent protecting his only child and all that. Always within reason, of course, and never without taking some kind of disciplinary action.

But even though his father’s precision was only reasonable considering the position he held – not to mention honorable – it was also a hindrance. Or rather, it could be, especially in cases like this one. Cases that clearly required someone with an open mind. Someone, who was willing to take the unusual, the inexplicable, … the supernatural into account instead of ruling it out by force of habit.

Someone like Stiles.

Needless to say, he didn’t share his point of view with his dad. How could he? It was way too early for that. For one, he didn’t have a shred of evidence. And more importantly, he didn’t even have a valid theory, just a gut feeling. But even if he had all the proof he needed, Stiles wasn’t sure if his dad would listen to him, much less believe him. The sheriff was way too rational to even consider the possibility that there was more to this world than what the human eye could see.

But it was probably for the best. If there actually was something supernatural going on, maybe it would be wiser to keep it a secret. Most people tended to freak out at the unknown. It frightened them, causing them to do crazy things, to lash out instead of listening to reason. They would do anything to preserve their ‘normal’ lives.

Not Stiles, though.

He would welcome that new reality with open arms. Everything normal was boring. Stiles wanted excitement. Maybe because he didn’t have any in his life, or maybe because of the ADHD, but who cares? Discovering the world in its entire splendor, in all its variety, was everyone’s dream. Well, okay, maybe not everyone’s, but it was his.

Stiles practically yearned for some relief – literally and figuratively. In a way, he felt compelled to seek out the truth, to unravel the mystery. To do anything to make his life more interesting, more worth living. But even though he wasn’t going stop to find answers, he wouldn’t put anyone in danger. Not his father, or his friends, or himself.

Not on purpose.

Well, at least not without a good reason.

 

\+ + + 

 

The sheriff left shortly after breakfast.

But not before making Stiles promise to keep his mouth shut.

Obviously, he was regretting his decision to bring his son up to date. On principle, he didn’t share any information about ongoing cases with him. Ever. Stiles didn’t take it personally, though. Deep down, he knew his dad didn’t really fear his indiscretion. Sure, Stiles usually told Scott everything. That’s what best friends do, after all.

But then again, despite the fact that his dad had been very busy lately with solving his case, it couldn’t have escaped his notice that Scott hadn’t been over in quite a while. True, they hadn’t talked about it. Not yet anyway. But it was a hard thing to miss. Stiles and Scott were practically inseparable. Well, they used to. But things were different now.

Not that it mattered.

Their cooled off friendship didn’t change the facts.

The deed was done.

His father had told him pretty much everything. From Jackson’s and Lydia’s involvement to the amount of damage that was done in the video store. And of course he’d also imparted the most vital piece of information – the dead body. A guy, who has just moved to Beacon Hill a couple weeks ago, and has been working in the video store ever since. Jimmy something. Stiles didn’t know him, which was weird, considering he was a frequent customer in the video store. He should have run into him at least once. But for some reason he hadn’t.

But anyway, the fact remained the same. His dad hadn’t planned to spill the beans. True, apparently he didn’t mean to keep the part about his classmates’ involvement a secret. That much was clear. But other than that he certainly hadn’t intended to fill in the rest.

The whole thing was kinda strange. Usually Stiles had to resort to his favorite method, the one that was rarely working – incessantly pleading, bugging his dad with endless questions.

But not this time.

The sheriff hardly gave his son a chance to pipe up, to make comments or ask any questions. He just kept ranting about last night’s events, how the lack of hard evidence was driving him nuts, that he was getting nowhere with his investigation.

And Stiles just let him vent. Sure, he wanted to butt in, share his own view on things, but he restrained himself. Just barely, though. Obviously, his dad needed to get his frustration of his chest. And maybe the not so professional investigator in him was looking for a different prospective, from someone who wasn’t already involved in the case. Or at least from someone who wasn’t officially involved. But that was probably just reading too much into things, considering his Dad didn’t give him a chance to be an active participant in the conversation.

Stiles hadn’t commented on it, though. He was grateful to be clued in, if only by accident, by a momentary lapse of judgment, or concentration, or whatever. Not to mention that he didn’t want to make things worse. Because once he’d realized what he’d done the sheriff had made it very clear that his obvious lapse in self-control would have serious repercussions for both of them if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

Of course, Stiles promised his dad to keep the details of the attack to himself. Not just to avoid his own punishment, but to protect his father. If word got out that the sheriff shared sensitive information with an outsider, not to mention a minor, he would be in big trouble. He could lose his job. And Stiles would never risk that. For anything or anyone.

Let people come to him and tell him about the attack. Like that would ever happen. Maybe Scott would ask him if he overheard something. And in the past Stiles might have been torn between his loyalties. But not anymore.

This time, Stiles wouldn’t have a problem to make the right decision.

 

\+ + +

 

Still wired up from the conversation he just had with his father, Stiles simply couldn’t sit still and wait another half hour. Or god forbid, forty five minutes. Instead, he grabbed his bag, a bottle of water and his keys and left the house, heading for his jeep. He dumped his stuff on the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel. Without hesitation he started his car, backing out of the driveway and driving straight to school.

It was very unlike Stiles to be on time. Or god forbid over-punctual. But today he was. It felt weird being here before most of the student body. By the time he normally arrived at school the parking lot was bustling with noise and excitement. But not right now. Only a few cars were there already, most of them belonging to the teachers, but there were no people in sight.

It was eerily quiet. Like the calm before the storm.

But arriving this early certainly had one major advantage – free choice of finding the perfect parking space. As Stiles was usually running late, he normally had to park at the far end of the parking lot, which meant he had to run to make it on time to his first class.

But not today.

With a smirk on his face he pulled into the parking space that was unofficially reserved for Jackson. Knowing what had occurred the night before, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Jackson wouldn’t show up today. Although … knowing Jackson’s flair for the dramatic, he probably was going to make an appearance. Just to show that nothing, or nobody, could faze him.

Stiles briefly considered staying in the car, listening to some tunes to pass the remaining time, but he quickly decided against it. Acting out of character was one thing, and maybe something to think about later, but actually being caught in the act, that was a different matter entirely.

On his way to the main entrance Stiles passed Mr. Harris’ black car. As always it was parked with the back to pavement, inevitably drawing everyone’s attention to the white bumper sticker.

‘Imagination is more important than knowledge.’

Stiles certainly agreed with that statement. In fact, he lived by it. But Mr. Harris? Not likely!

Granted, the chemistry teacher was pretty smart, clearly knowledgeable in more subjects than his own. But he was anything but humble about it, always showing off, making people feel inferior for not being as smart as he was. Which was quite the achievement, considering he was teaching kids. Making them feel less educated was kinda redundant, not to mention uncalled for … because, duh, that’s what they were.

But did Harris care? No he didn’t. Contrary to the statement on his bumper sticker he certainly lacked imagination. And empathy. And the ability to make learning fun and exciting, instead of making his students suffer through each and every lesson. Stiles often wondered what drove Harris to choose a teaching career. He obviously wasn’t suited for it.

After a short visit to the bathroom and his locker, Stiles made his way to the chemistry lab. He hated starting the day with his least favorite teacher, but what could he do? His schedule was set in stone.

Mr. Harris was probably looking forward to this lesson, like each and every other Friday. But today he would be disappointed. His favorite victim was on time for a change and he wouldn’t get the chance to mock him for not being able to read the clock, or to give him detention, and as a result make him be late or completely miss Lacrosse practice. 

‘Too bad.’ Stiles smirked. Maybe it was childish to take pleasure in the fact that he was ruining someone else’s day.

But as far as Stiles was concerned, it wasn’t.

 

\+ + +

 

As expected the chem lab was still empty.

Well almost. There was one person already occupying a seat at far end of the room.

Erika. With her nose stuck in her notebooks, furiously drawing, and completely unaware of Stiles’ presence. Understandably, since the door had been wide open and he didn’t announce his entrance, deliberately or otherwise. In fact, Stiles didn’t make any kind of noise, moving through the room, down the rows of tables in complete silence. Only when he stopped at Erika’s table, he made his presence known … by dropping his bag on the table with a bang.

“Good morning, Picasso!”

Naturally, the blonde jumped in her seat, losing the grip on her pencil. Trembling, she looked up.

Stiles was shocked to detect a flicker of pure panic in her eyes. Suddenly he felt like an ass for practically ambushing his friend. He knew how easily spooked she was. But thankfully the scared look on Erika’s face was quickly replaced by a different facial expression. A mixture of confusion and annoyance. Still not what he wanted to see, but progress nonetheless.

“Geez, Stiles,” Erika breathed. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Stiles grinned, taking the seat next to the blonde.

“Like hell, you didn’t.” Erika shot back. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, okay … I can sit somewhere else, if you want.” Stiles replied, already reaching for his bag. He didn’t even consider asking her if she would mind being his lab partner today. Usually he was running late and was paired with Greenberg. Mr. Harris’ special choice of torture. Placing him next to a smelly, stupid, wannabe lacrosse player. Sitting next to Erika, someone he actually liked and who was just as smart as he was, if not smarter, would certainly be a nice change. But if he wasn’t welcome …

“Don’t be silly.” Erika huffed, rolling her eyes at him. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t mind you sitting here and you know it. I just meant what are you doing here so early?”

“I don’t know. My watch was running fast?” Stiles offered with a shrug. As excuses went, it was a lame one. Probably his lamest attempt ever. No wonder, Erika didn’t buy it. His answer didn’t sound even remotely like a statement.

Sparing him a significant look, the blonde grabbed his left arm. The digital display on his watch wasn’t lying. “Wanna try that again?”

“You got me there.” Stiles admitted, chuckling, mostly in discomfort. He was impressed by her bluntness, her tenacity to call him out on his shit. Sure, she could have just dropped the subject. But her reaction proved once again that she wasn’t interested in a shallow relationship. Obviously, she valued honesty above anything else, something they both had in common.

Stiles knew that his next step would set the tone for their future friendship. If he stuck with the lie she would probably change her mind and stay away from him – again. He certainly didn’t want that.

He was torn. He’d promised his father that he would keep his mouth shut. How could he be honest with one person without betraying another?

Erika eyed him curiously for a few moments, almost daring him to say … anything. But then she just nodded once and simply went back to her drawing.

“You know something about last night’s attack.” There was no accusation in her voice, no real curiosity either. She was simply stating a fact.

Stiles gaped at her, completely stunned. How did she know? 

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me anything.” Erika added before Stiles had the chance to voice his question out loud. And going by her nonchalant tone of voice, she really meant it. Unlike other people she wasn’t using that phrase to make him talk, or make him feel guilty for not coming clean. In fact, her entire behavior was supporting that theory as well. She wasn’t interested in gossip. She wasn’t even looking for any kind of response, just letting him know what she knew and where she stood. “I’m sure it will be soon all over the school anyway. Considering our future prom king and queen were involved.”

Stiles was momentarily distracted by Erika’s snide tone of voice. “Ouch … if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you are jealous of Lydia.”

“Good thing, you know me better.” Erika simply retorted.

“Who knows? People could still vote for you if you’d sign up.” Stiles pointed out.

Erika’s snort was cute but unmistakable. She still thought very little of herself. Or of the whole prom ritual. Probably both.

“I would.”

Erika glanced up at him from under her thick, wild locks. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course.”

“Says the boy who has a crush on some hot stranger …” Erika commented, dryly.

Stiles wasn’t sure whether she doubted his judgment in general, or if she just didn’t believe him because he was gay. True, he wasn’t a reliable source when it came to rating a girl’s level of hotness. But he was sure if Erika wanted to, she could give Lydia a run for her money. A little make-up, a new haircut, a different outfit … but she didn’t seem to be interested. Or she didn’t know how. Growing up without a mother, a female role-model, was hard. He knew that. Erika’s mother wasn’t dead, though. She just ran off with some other man, leaving her daughter and her husband behind. Cruel, sure, but still less devastating than watching one’s mother wither and die.

Stiles wisely kept his mouth shut on the whole matter. And besides, giving styling tips wasn’t actually his forte, or his place. Instead he decided to comment on her last statement.

“Crushing on some hot stranger … Dammit, girl, what’s with you and the snappy comebacks today?”

“I see everything.” Erika shrugged. Stiles detected a small smile playing around her lips. Clearly she was just teasing him. “Maybe I’m psychic.”

Psychic or not, she was certainly perceptive and apparently well informed.

“Which would certainly explain the fact why you know about last night’s attack …” Stiles remarked, happy that he found a slick way back to the topic that was truly important. The one he equally wanted to address and avoid.

“True … or it might have something to do with the fact that my dad works at the hospital.”

Stiles was dumbstruck, but just for a moment. “He is a janitor there, right?”

Erika nodded. “Janitor, handyman, cleaning crew … pretty much the hospital’s to-go guy for everything that’s broken and needs fixing. Well, almost everything. He still leaves the mending of broken bones to the doctors.”

Stiles loved Erika’s sense of humor. But what’s more, he loved the fact that she was so easy to talk to. No expectations, no demands, no lies, just a simple exchange of information. “And he just told you what happened?”

“He tells me everything. Well, not for fun, to spread rumors, or something. He just loves to talk about his day. And I’m a good listener. Well, the only one he has, actually. At home, that is. But I don’t mind. It’s a nice, little tradition. Sitting together, having dinner or breakfast, depending on his shift schedule, talking about what we did all day. I usually don’t have much to tell. Not being a social butterfly and all that. But he always has something to tell. Usually, funny stories, about some weird accidents that happened. But not lately, though. All these attacks, seemingly at random, three people dead, and no one has the slightest idea what’s going on, why this is happening …”

Erika sounded almost as frustrated as Stiles felt. But she seemed less curious, more rattled. “Anyway, my Dad said the guy from the video store was pretty messed up. His throat torn out, scratches all over the body, pretty much like all the other victims. Seriously, if I didn’t know it better I would say that someone is on a revenge campaign.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, deep in thoughts. Was it a revenge thing? And if it was, it couldn’t be an animal doing all this. Animals didn’t act like that. It must be a human. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than you do.”

By this point Erika had stopped paying attention to her drawing, fully facing Stiles. She eyed him for a few seconds, before saying, “But you are curious to find out more, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” There was no shred of indecision in Stiles’ voice. He was determined to bring some light into the darkness. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“Not really. Something tells me that getting involved is a very bad idea.”

“You are probably right.” Stiles conceded.

“But you are not going to give up, are you?”

“Never.”

Erika laughed, somewhat awkwardly. “Well, in that case you should definitely check out the public library. I’m pretty sure you can find something in the archives. My Dad told me that this isn’t the first time something like this is happening. A couple of years back there have been series of animal attacks too. And no one ever found out what did it. A mountain lion, a coyote, a wolf … all very strange.”

“My money is on wolves.”

“There haven’t been any sightings of wolves in this area for ages.” The blonde pointed out, without sounding like a know-it-all.

“No documented sightings.” Stiles objected, because he couldn’t help it.

“So, what? You think that they can make themselves invisible?” Erika smirked.

“No, of course not. But maybe they are … werewolves.” Stiles had no idea why he said that. The word just jumped into his mind. And in some weird, crazy way it made sense. To him.

“Werewolves?” Erika stared at him in blank astonishment. “There is no such thing.”

“Probably.” Stiles shrugged, not wanting to get further into it. Not because he wouldn’t be able to make a strong case for his new theory. No. He certainly would be able to do that. He just knew it wouldn’t be wise to talk about it any further. Not right now.

They weren’t alone any longer. The room was swiftly filling with other people. People who had curious eyes and ears. Better to drop the subject now and continue this conversation some other time, rather than being overheard by the wrong person. Gladly, Erika seemed to be on the same page. 

“Well, whatever you do, just promise me you’ll be careful.” Erika stressed, pleading with him with her soulful, brown eyes.

Stiles was stunned for a moment by her honest concern for his wellbeing. Almost like she knew something. Maybe she really was psychic. “I will. Promise.”

Erika nodded once, seemingly appeased by his answer, and went back to her drawing. Stiles grabbed his bag and pulled out his notebook and a pencil, getting ready for class.

‘This is going to be a long day.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry. The next chapter is already in progress. Hopefully it will be done within the next two weeks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on time, yeah. Well, I always try to keep my promises … just like Stiles.

Scott arrived a few moments before the bell rang, accompanied by Allison, as usual.

It was clear from the quizzical look on his face that he wanted to talk to Stiles. Urgently. He was without a doubt curious why he was there already, sitting next to Erika of all people. And he probably wanted to find out what his alleged best friend knew about the latest attack. Going by the incessant chatter around him, news about last night’s events had already made the rounds.

But Scott didn’t get the chance to grill Stiles for information. Considering they came in last, he and Allison had no choice but to take a seat in the front row. Stiles almost pitied them. Almost. But mainly he was glad. His head was still reeling from the conversation he just had with the blonde girl sitting next to him. He certainly didn’t need more things to think or worry about.

Erika knew about the attacks. Not much more than he did, obviously, but probably more than anybody else. Well more than anybody who wasn’t officially involved in the police investigation.

She seemed rattled, though, and with good reason. Not truly terrified, more unnerved and kinda resigned. Like there was nothing she could do. Which was probably true. Although … with her forthcoming source of information, aka her dad, she would make a great sidekick. Great, but apparently unwilling.

Alas, Stiles didn’t get the chance to rack his brains over the reasons why she was so reluctant to get involved. True, her medical condition was certainly an issue. But it was under control. As far as he knew she hasn’t had an epileptic fit in school for quite some time. But still, physically speaking, she probably wasn’t too keen to hurl herself into action. Emotionally and intellectually … well that was another question. A question that needed to wait for an answer.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Harris called the class to order. Naturally, it took a while until each and every student complied with his demand. Grumpily, he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. With his trademark smirk, the one that usually didn't bode well, Harris handed out a pop quiz.

Stiles was sure he hadn’t planned one for today. In fact, he was certain, Harris only did it, because he had been robbed of the opportunity to yell at Stiles for being late, or anyone for that matter. For once everybody was on time. Clearly, Harris needed something to compensate his loss.

‘Dumbass.’

A collective groan went through the room. But Harris wasn’t swayed. As if. Instead he once again called for silence, watching everybody with hawk eyes as they started on their tests.

Stiles, on the other hand, was glad about the pop quiz. It was a welcome distraction, taking his mind off things. He knew he would have screwed up the experience they were supposed to start on today. And it wasn’t a hard test. True, it had some trick questions, as always, but if you paid enough attention in Harris’ class and were smart enough – like Stiles or Erika – it was easy to work around the obvious traps and find the correct answers.

For the next forty minutes the room was silent, except for the scratching noise of pencils against paper and the occasional groan or cough.

Stiles finished the pop quiz at the same time as Erika. As expected, Harris was far from pleased about that fact. He immediately assigned them a new task. To revise the chapter on hydrochloric acid and its reaction with various substances and to study all four experiences dealing with that topic. He made it very clear that they should be prepared to perform each and every one, preferably without any assistance.

The class was almost over, though. There were only ten minutes left. Not enough time to go through everything and memorize it, but enough time not to get sidetracked … by other, more intriguing subjects.

Seconds before the bell rang, Erika slipped Stiles a sheet of paper. He smirked at first, assuming that she was trying to be sneaky because she was scared off getting caught by Harris. The thing he tolerated even less than lateness was any kind of social interaction between his students during his class, be it checking their smart phones, talking or passing messages.

Having enough practice Stiles managed to maintain low a profile while he carefully unfolded the paper. He didn’t know what to expect. A snide comment about Harris, maybe a fitting cartoon, or preferably a few more details about last night’s attack she wanted him to have. But certainly not this.

Stiles was completely stunned.

It was a drawing of the Hale house. Not like it was now, scorched and in ruins, but like it used to be. Or more precisely, what Stiles imagined it had looked like before the fire. Even though he has never seen it when it was still intact, he knew it was the house where Derek and his family used to live. And even if he hadn’t recognized it at once, the small figure, sitting on the porch steps was a very helpful clue.

Stiles openly gaped at Erika.

“I thought you might want to have it, since … you know.” Erika shrugged, a small smile playing at her mouth. “And since you didn’t ask, I also wrote down my number.”

Still dumbstruck by the gesture, he glanced back down. At the bottom of the torn-out page were a phone number and an email address.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled so lowly, nobody would have been able to hear it over the school bell ringing. When he looked up again, Erika was already gone.

Brains and stealth … she sure would make a great sidekick.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles managed to evade Scott until lunch break – mostly by accident.

Okay, so maybe he turned off his phone on purpose. But that was beside the point.

His schedule was quite a bit different from Scott’s. Unlike his former best friend, he’d applied to numerous AP classes this year. Aside from chemistry, English, Economics and PE, he and Scott had no classes together. But they always met up during the short breaks on the way to their next classes. And they always spent lunch together.

Today was the first time Stiles considered coming up with an excuse to have lunch somewhere else than in the cafeteria.

He could try and find Erika, finish their talk. Maybe ask her about the drawing and how she came up with that specific subject. Sure, he’d seen a few of her drawings before, showing Derek, but none of the Hale house. Did she just come up with it, or has she been there? With him?

The very thought of them together, meeting in secret, doing who knew what, didn’t sit well with Stiles. A strange surge of emotion went through him, hard and fast. Something hot and tingly, not at all pleasant. Was it jealousy? It couldn’t be. He didn’t know the guy. And even if he did, there was no reason to feel jealous. He and Derek were a fantasy – a nice one, for sure, but a fantasy nonetheless.

And if Erika ended up with him, that would be okay.

In theory.

Maybe.

Well, okay, maybe not.

‘Stop it already.’ Stiles scolded himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe that he was obsessing over something that wasn’t even true. Erika would have told him if there was something going on between her and Derek. No doubt about it. In fact, Stiles was certain she didn’t even know who he was. She might have an idea about his identity, but no confirmation. And probably no interest to get it either, given her reluctance to get involved in Stiles’ search for answers.

Annoyed with himself and his never-ending train of thoughts Stiles picked up his backpack and left the Spanish class room. With a huff he decided against skipping lunch. Because, what would be the point of it? Avoiding the inevitable always made things worse. And he had no interest to postpone the talk with Scott. Better to get it over with right now. No matter how much he wanted to be somewhere else.

The prospect of dining at the school cafeteria wasn’t exactly appealing either. Sure, the food was edible, but far from mouth-watering. But his hunger always won out in the end.

When he entered the cafeteria there was only one empty table left. After picking out a dish, he went straight for it. He didn’t have to wait for long for his usual companions.

“Did you hear? There was another attack last night.” Scott commenced, sliding on a chair across from Stiles. Allison, as expected, took the seat next to her boyfriend.

“Hard to miss. Jackson won’t stop bragging about his heroic triumph over the attacker.” Stiles replied wryly, jerking his head in the other direction of the room. There at the corner table sat Jackson, surrounded by his usual friends and then some. And Lydia sat next to Jackson. But unlike her boyfriend she didn’t seem to enjoy all the attention. In fact, she looked rather upset, if not a little pissed. 

“According to my dad, they were lucky to escape with their lives.” Allison commented, watching her friend closely. She was obviously worried about Lydia. It almost looked like she was about to go over and pull her away. And a small part of Stiles felt the same way. But mostly he was taken aback by a certain part of Allison’s answer.

“Your dad? What does he have to do with the attack?” Stiles asked, trying to act nonchalant by picking at his food. It was supposed to be meatloaf, but it smelled and tasted anything like it.

“Nothing. Really. I just overheard him and some of his clients talking about it this morning. Something about taking that animal out, once and for all.” Allison shrugged. Suddenly, she seemed very uncomfortable, like she got caught in spilling a secret, or something. Obviously, she didn’t do the eavesdropping thing very often. Stiles almost offered to give her some pointers. But she beat him to the punch by changing the subject.

“So, you still on for tomorrow night?” Allison turned towards her boyfriend.

“You mean that dinner with your family?” Scott mumbled, speaking with his mouth full. Allison didn’t seem to mind, but Stiles was slightly grossed out. Sure, he was kinda used to it. But that didn’t mean he was appreciating Scott’s anything but well-behaved eating manners.

“And my aunt.” Allison added as an afterthought. It sounded more like a reminder, though. Like she’d told him that already, but Scott hasn’t been listening at the time. Stiles wasn’t surprised. Scott’s attention span was rather limited.

“Right. What’s she like?”

“She’s great. More like a sister, actually. You gonna love her.”

“If you say so …” Scott said. It was clear he was nervous. The way Allison spoke about her aunt, Stiles could understand. If he messed up their first meeting, Scott would have a hard time making it up to his girlfriend. Allison laughed, stealing some fries from her boyfriend’s tray.

“So, what are your plans for the weekend?” She asked, addressing Stiles.

It was really hard to resent her. The way she always tried to include him, to make sure he was part of the conversation, instead of just an unimportant bystander, was one of the reasons why he was still hanging around with them. It should have been Scott, though. He should be the one making sure that his friend didn’t feel like the third wheel. But he didn’t. Sure, this was all new to him. Allison was his first girlfriend and he had no experience with the whole relationship thingy. But he and Stiles have known each other for years. That should trump … well everything.

What was the saying? ‘Bros before hos.’ Apparently Scott hasn’t learned that lesson yet.

“Nothing much. Watching TV, doing homework, the usual. Maybe spend some time with my dad.” Stiles didn’t mean to sound wistful, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he wore his heart on his sleeve.

“I get it. I miss my dad too, when he is away because of his work.” Allison admitted, smiling sadly. Apparently he was away quite often. Or at least he used to be. Since they moved to Beacon Hills, his business trips seemed to be far less frequent. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to pick up his daughter from school on a practically daily basis.

“But you have your mom too.” Stiles pointed out.

Allison blushed. “True.” 

For once, Scott picked up on his girlfriend’s discomfort right away. He scowled at Stiles. Like he didn’t need the extra guilt. Stiles felt bad enough as it was. Playing the dead-mother-card was beneath him.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Stiles apologized.

“I know. And I’m thankful that I still have both parents. It’s just … me and my mom, we are not that close, you know.” The brunette explained.

“That’s too bad.” Stiles replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah.” Allison agreed, equally reserved. Stiles could tell that there was more to it, but clearly she wasn’t willing to share her feelings. At least not right here and now.

Thankfully Scott thought it was time for him to contribute his own opinion. “You have no idea. She is scary.”

“She is not.” Allison argued. “She is just strict.”

“Strict? My mom is strict. Yours is scary.” Scott disagreed, shocking Stiles with his bluntness. But Allison didn’t seem to mind. Not really anyway.

They spent the rest of lunch comparing notes about their parents’ control issues. Stiles chimed in every once in a while. As the son of a police officer he certainly had something to say on the matter.

It was nice. That little banter. Like old times. Maybe Stiles should give Scott more time. Or talk to him about his abandonment issues. Allison surely was trying to make it work and they just knew each other for a couple of weeks. Why should Scott, his best friend, not be able to do the same?

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles took Erika’s advice to heart and went to the public library right after Lacrosse practice.

Since he wasn’t planning to stay there longer than a couple of hours, he didn’t ask for his father’s permission. As long as he didn’t break curfew, his father didn’t need to know what he was up to. And in case the sheriff would call him, to check up on him or something, he was prepared. He would simply tell him that he went to the library to do research for some school project.

Sure, it would be a lie. But then again, the only problem with lying was getting caught.

And his Dad could hardly blame him for doing the right thing. Okay, he could, and probably would, if he knew. But it’s not like Stiles was up to something illegal. Quite the opposite. He went there to find answers, to bring light into the darkness, to decipher this seemingly unsolvable riddle. Stiles wanted to solve a crime, or more accurately numerous crimes. And that fit right into the sheriff’s agenda.

Something or someone out there was on a killing spree and he needed to be stopped. In this he totally agreed with Allison’s father. But on the other hand Mr. Argent was probably providing those strange hunters he saw the other day with weapons, being a professional dealer and whatnot.

And for some reason that notion didn’t sit well with Stiles.

Professional gamekeepers were one thing. But those guys acted more like bounty hunters, like men on a mission. A mission that seemed to have more to do with vengeance than keeping the town and its people safe. Not for the first time Stiles wondered what role Chris Argent was playing in it, aside from supplying guns and crossbows to some trigger-happy fiends.

Maybe he could try and ask Allison again. Sure, just like Erika, she seemed to be unwilling to get involved. But Stiles was sneaky. Or rather he could be, especially when he really wanted something.

But that scheme had to wait.

And maybe it wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe his little trip to the public library would help him find all the answers he needed.

‘One can always dream.’

 

\+ + +

 

Even though most information was available online nowadays, Beacon Hills still stored a lot of old data in countless files at the library.

Understaffed as pretty much every official department in town, the library was vacant except for Mrs. Newton. As always she sat at the front desk, reading some trashy magazine. She barely even looked up when Stiles entered the building.

There weren’t a lot of other people either. A few kids, browsing through the comic book section at the entrance, looking for some new reading material, and an old man who was practically here every time Stiles was. He could always be found in the how-to manual section. Stiles had no idea who the guy was. But apparently he wasn’t unwelcome.

Sure, on first glance it looked like she wasn’t taking her job very serious, but Mrs. Newton was very strict when it came to loitering or trouble makers. If she didn’t want someone inside, she didn’t hesitate to say something and make them leave. As the sister of the Beacon Hills mayor she had a certain influence in town. And she certainly had no problem to make good use of it.

Stiles has witnessed it a few times, but he has never personally become acquainted with that side of her. In fact, he rarely ever spoke to her. As a frequent visitor he didn’t need her help anyway. He knew his way around. Not that the library was that big. Just a few rows of fiction novels, more or less sorted by genres, followed by a few more rows of history and science books.

Today Stiles bypassed those rows and went straight to the far end of the hall. There in the semidarkness were numerous roll file cabinets containing old newspapers and copies of official documents, everything from old maps to various ordinances to annual town reports. He dropped his backpack on a table nearby and set to work.

Unfortunately, the search turned out to be very strenuous.

Sure, the cabinets were all labeled, but only by year. Knowing that time was an issue Stiles decided to just go back ten years, hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake. After two hours skimming through the local newspapers stored on microfiche, he finally found something.

No headline news, though, but quite a few, if short articles dealing with animal attacks. Nothing compared to what was going on right now, no human fatalities, just a mauling or two, but still. Erika had been right. This wasn’t the first time something like this was happening.

But the really interesting piece of information he stumbled over was the name Argent. It was mentioned a couple of times. Not Chris or Victoria, but someone named Gerard. Apparently, the Argents – or at least someone related to them – had set up shop in Beacon Hills before now. And going by the interviews he was a very experienced hunter and had quite a few things say. Especially about wild animals and how to deal with them should they venture into town.

Needless to say, Stiles was mightily intrigued, but unfortunately he was running out of time. It was already dark outside and curfew was in an hour.

Not wanting to piss off his dad unnecessarily he decided to call it a day. There was still a lot of data to go through. Stiles knew he should ask for permission first, but he didn’t want to risk a flat out refusal. He made a few snap shots with his phone of the texts in question. He knew he probably would have to come back some other time, to finish his research, but at least he found something to start with.

Stiles put everything back where he found it, making it look like he was never there.

On his way out the door he said a quick goodbye to Mrs. Newton and then he hurried to get to his jeep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might take a little longer than two weeks for the next update. Just so you know. But I will try my best. Promise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, the longest one in this story – I hope, you enjoy it. Oh, and I’m not a botanist. So, all that stuff about wolfsbane is more or less made up.

Stiles' way home led through Beacon Hills' industrial area.

Usually that part of town was crawling with people. Especially on a Friday night. Couples were out on their dates, groups of people lining up in front of the movie theatre, or sitting in cafes and restaurants nearby, enjoying their coffee, drink or dinner.

But tonight everything was already closed, probably for the first time ever. Or at least for the first time in a very long time.

The streets were empty, too. Traffic was pretty much non-existing, in either direction. Apparently everybody was sticking to the curfew rules laid down by Beacon Hills’ police department. Without a doubt, more or less involuntary, but still. It was unreal.

And eerily quiet.

But it wasn’t the absence of people or noise which caused Stiles to shift uncomfortably in his seat. From the moment he left the library he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed.

Considering the sun was already down, the world around Stiles naturally consisted of nothing but darkness and shadows, created by the occasional street lamp and the moon. And true, one could say he was just seeing things. But he was damn certain he wasn’t.

There was something out there. In the dark.

Stiles kept on driving, slower than he needed to, his eyes constantly drifting between the street and the surrounding area. He could barely make out anything in the dark, just a big shape, a shadow following him, jumping from roof to roof. Whatever it was it clearly had no trouble keeping up with him and his car. And yet at the same time it seemed adamant to stay out of sight. And it was succeeding.

Well, more or less.

When he turned into the street leading through the oldest, mostly deserted part of the industrial area, the strange feeling of being watched became stronger. Almost overwhelmingly strong. Like more than one set of eyes were trained on him. But unfortunately Stiles still couldn't make out much, just shadows moving in the silent darkness.

Suddenly a loud noise echoed through the moonlit night. Instinctively, Stiles stepped on the brakes and pulled over.

He knew that kind of sound. It was a single shot, fired by a shotgun, or something. Definitely a large caliber gun.

“What the fuck?” Stiles exclaimed, frantically looking around for the perpetrator.

But there was no one in sight. Going by the building structures and serpentine-like streets between them, the shooter could easily be a mile away from where he stood. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he scanned the area for any kind of clue.

And there it was, half a block away, a small movement at the opening of a particular dark alley. Someone, or something, was crawling towards him. Was it the shooter or its victim?

'Don’t do it. Don’t get out. Just drive away.' The smart part of his brain, the one that didn't make rash decisions, cautioned. ‘And call the cops.’

But Stiles rarely ever listened to reason. Driven by curiosity and an inexplicably strong urge to make sure that whoever or whatever was lying there was okay he got out of his car. Prudently, he left his the key stuck in the ignition. Just in case he needed to make a quick exit.

Of course, Stiles knew what a foolish move it was, but he couldn’t just leave. He didn’t know why but he simply had to go over and see if he could help. He would still call his dad. Later.

Stiles didn’t run, though, moving cautiously, continuously glancing over his shoulder. A single car drove by, but the driver didn’t stop. He didn't pay him any attention either. Apparently he hadn’t heard the shot. Or he simply didn’t care.

Unlike Stiles whose heart was racing like crazy. Not out of fear, but out of concern for the slumped body.

The closer he got the more clearer it became that he was dealing with an animal, not a person. Unless that someone was wearing a large black fur coat and was into some really weird kink, like licking its left front leg, incessantly. Clearly, the animal was injured. Completely engrossed in the cleaning process it didn't show any sign that it was aware of Stiles’ presence. Or it simple didn’t care. Only when Stiles was but a few steps away, it lifted its head and looked right at him.

With bright, magnificent blue eyes.

“Shit.” Stiles swore.

It was his wolf.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

Stiles could see that the wolf was far from okay. Now that he had stopped licking the wound the blood probably trickled from its leg on the pavement, slowly but surely creating a puddle. It was hard to tell for sure, from where he stood. Besides, the heavy pants and slight whining were clear indicators that the wolf was in serious distress.

Without so much sparing even one thought about the possible repercussions Stiles hurried to his side, kneeling next to his dream-stalking friend, reaching for the injured leg. The wolf snarled in protest.

“Don’t be a baby. I just want to take a look, that’s all. I’m not gonna hurt, promise.” Stiles said, slightly miffed about the wolf’s reaction.

Fortunately, the wolf seemed to believe him. Or rather he could sense that Stiles didn’t mean him any harm. After all, he was an animal. He couldn’t possibly understand what Stiles was saying, right?

Despite the fact that he’d once considered to apply for Scott’s job Stiles has never been very interested in veterinary medicine. So, naturally, he didn’t have any clue what he was doing. But still, he could at least check and see what was wrong. Generally speaking. He ran his fingers through the thick fur, carefully feeling out the leg. And there it was. A bullet shaped wound. As far as he could tell there was only an exit, no entrance, which meant, the bullet was probably still stuck inside. Although, if that was the case, he should have been able to feel it.

“You need professional help.” Stiles declared. He slowly left his crouched position, wiping his blood stained fingers on his jeans. It wasn’t as much as he had expected, but enough to make him feel a bit queasy. “Can you get up?”

Again, the wolf seemed to sense what Stiles was asking of him. He tried to get on all fours, but failed. His left leg gave away under the pressure. Sure, he looked like he could have hobbled, but Stiles could not have that.

“Don’t strain yourself. Just stay here and wait. I’ll get my jeep.”

The wolf didn’t seem to like to be given commands, going by the growl, but he still complied, sitting back on his haunches. Stiles grinned, quickly scratching the wolf between the ears, which he really seemed to like, and then he ran to get his car.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles helped the wolf on the backseat of his jeep.

For a moment he considered strapping him in, but he quickly decided against it. Aside from being uncomfortable, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. When he was sure the wolf was safely placed, he carefully closed the door.

Then he quickly made his way around his jeep, jumping behind the wheel, making sure not to close his door the usual way, by slamming it shut. He certainly didn’t want to startle the animal unnecessarily. The wolf was stressed enough as it was.

“Do me a favor and try not to bleed too much on my seat, okay?” Stiles called over his shoulder, while fastening his seatbelt.

The wolf lifted his head and snarled at him in response, purposely displaying his sharp fangs. Almost like he was trying to say ‘Shut up and drive, before I rip your throat out … with my teeth.’

Stiles held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. I get it. Talk later, drive now.”

Without any further delay he turned the key still stuck in the ignition and started the jeep. He made a U-turn and drove off in the opposite direction he was supposed to go. There were probably only twenty minutes left until curfew. He really should get home if he didn’t want to face the consequences for defying it.

“Consequences, schmonsequences …” Stiles grumbled under his breath. He could hardly take his injured passenger home. The wolf needed medical help. From a professional. So there was only one place he could take him. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.

Stiles shifted in his seat, fumbling for his phone. He finally retrieved it from the depths of his pocket.

Usually, he had no trouble driving while simultaneously operating his phone. But today he did. In fact, he had a really hard time accomplishing a simple task as scrolling through his contacts. His hands were trembling like crazy. Maybe he was acting all cool and collected, but that was just a front.

In reality, he was freaked. Not particularly about the shooting. Sure, a part of him was freaked out about that too. Who would fire a shotgun within the city grounds? No one in his right mind, that’s for sure. And seeing as the (alleged) mark was hit on the first try, someone who was an accomplished marksman.

It was a scary thought, and yet Stiles was far more concerned about his wolf. What if he didn’t make it? Sure, the wound didn’t look that bad. But then again, what did he know? He was no doctor. And going by the labored panting, the wolf was in serious pain.

Stiles breathed a deep-felt sigh when he finally found the right number. He hit dial without a second thought, glancing back through the rearview mirror. The wolf’s vibrant eyes were on him, watching, almost judging him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Driving and making a call at the same time ... bad idea. Not to mention the example I set, being the son of the sheriff and all that. But sometimes being the bad guy is necessary. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Stiles still didn’t feel weird for talking to the wolf. Sure, he didn’t expect an answer. But on the other hand, he got the strange impression that the wolf could understand him. Or at least that he was getting the gist of what he was saying.

“Come on, come on, pick up.” Stiles chanted. His prayer was answered after the third ring.

“Deaton.”

“Oh, thank God, you are still there.”

“Who is this?” The deep voice of the veterinarian retorted.

“Hey Doc, it’s me.”

“Very helpful.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Stiles laughed. “This is Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Scott isn’t here. It’s his day off.” Deaton remarked, matter-of-factly.

“I know. I’m actually calling for you. I have a patient that needs help.”

“Since when do you own a pet?” The animal doctor asked, clearly surprised, if not a little intrigued.

Stiles' passenger perked up, too, growling again. Almost like he'd heard every word and wasn’t particularly fond of being called Stiles’ pet.

“I don't. Err, I found him by the side of the road.” Stiles explained, not even lying.

“What are we talking about here?” Deaton asked, acting all business now.

“A dog … a big dog.” That on the other hand was a blatant lie.

Another warning growl came from the backseat. “Sorry,” Stiles mouthed, shooting an apologizing look through the rearview mirror.

“Okay. Where are you right now?” Deaton inquired. Apparently he couldn’t tell that Stiles was deceiving him, to some extent.

“I’m actually on my way to you.”

“It’s close to curfew.” Deaton pointed out. “Does your father know?”

“Not yet. I didn’t exactly plan this.” Stiles countered. “I will call him as soon as I drop off your patient.”

“Very well.” Deaton conceded. “It will be best you park in the back. I will wait for you there.”

 

\+ + +

 

It took longer than necessary for Stiles to get to the clinic.

As a precaution he decided to avoid the main roads, driving slowly and carefully, for once abiding each and every traffic law. Sure, there wasn’t much traffic, but still, better safe than sorry, right? He simply couldn’t risk getting stopped, by the police or anyone else.

The whole way Stiles couldn’t stop casting glances in the rearview mirror. Somehow he felt the constant need to check on his backseat passenger. He could hardly ask the wolf how he was doing.

Okay, so maybe he could. But he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. At least not a real one. A growl or a display of sharp teeth, sure, but no words. Not that the wolf’s way of communication wasn’t telling enough. His fangs were very impressive, undoubtedly capable of causing serious harm. But as far as answers went, their display could mean many different things. His aggravation with the situation in general, his annoyance with Stiles in particular – no doubt about that – or simply his fear …

Not that the wolf didn’t strike him as the easily scared kind. In fact, he seemed to be handling being shot quit well. Almost like he had experience with it or something. But Stiles could tell that the wolf suffering. He wanted to crawl on the backseat, snuggling against the wolf, providing comfort, like a pack member would do.

Which was weird. He already felt connected to the animal on some inexplicably deep level even though they practically just met. And yet, Stiles could tell that the wolf was aching, not just because of his physical injury, but emotionally. Like he recently lost someone close, a pack member perhaps …

Stiles wanted … no needed to know more, but thankfully the trip was over before Stiles could make a fool of himself asking the wolf even a single question. And he had many. What was the wolf doing here, in the industrial area? Who shot him? Why was he following Stiles? Where was he coming from? When did he arrive in town? And most importantly … how was all of this connected to him?

Stiles made a mental note to finish his list at a later time. Not that he expected to get any real answers, but still … better prepared than getting caught off guard.

‘Preparation is everything.’

The parking lot behind the clinic was dark and empty, except for one car, which most likely belonged to Deaton. Stiles maneuvered his jeep close to the back entrance, where the veterinarian was waiting for him as promised. He nodded at Stiles in greeting, who responded in kind.

Even though the alley was dimply lit, he could see the doctor clearly enough. Alan Deaton looked like Stiles felt. Tense. On edge. Angry. On the other hand he didn’t know the Doc very well. The stern look on his face could be his usual expression when dealing with an injured animal. After all, his profession demanded that kind of reaction.

Stiles stopped the engine, jumped out and went around, opening the door to his back seat, all within seconds. He didn’t need to invite Deaton. The veterinarian followed him of his own accord.

“That’s not a dog. It’s a wolf.” Deaton stated, which sounded more like an accusation than a simple observation.

“Really? Well,” Stiles shrugged, “You are the expert.”

The veterinarian didn’t look like he was buying the whole innocent, how-the-hell-should-I-have-known-that act, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he carefully reached out to touch Stiles’ passenger. The wolf recoiled, snarling at the foreign face.

“He is a bit grumpy.” Stiles hurried to excuse the wolf’s strong reaction.

“Understandably.” Deaton said, withdrawing his hand. He didn’t sound the least bit surprised or offended, almost like he’d expected to be rejected. Strange, shouldn’t he have some sort of magical touch, being the animal health guru?

“He is way too heavy for us to carry him inside. I’m going to get a gurney.”

Stiles wordlessly agreed, watching the veterinarian disappear into the building. When he was sure Deaton was out of earshot, he leaned inside his jeep and grabbed the wolf’s head with both his hands. The wolf didn’t display any signs of defiance now.

“Deaton is okay. You can trust him. I promise. He just wants to help you. And he knows how to do it. I don’t. So, please, do us both a favor and behave yourself, alright?” Stiles urged, keeping eye contact with the furry troublemaker the entire time.

The wolf blinked, twice, and lolled his tongue. Stiles took it as consent. “Good boy!” He cooed, patting the wolf’s head. Once again the wolf didn’t seem to like being treated like a dog. He snapped at Stiles, only playfully though.

At that moment Deaton reappeared with the gurney. Stiles stepped back, turning to face the veterinarian. “I think he will be cooperating now.”

“Good,” Deaton remarked, sparing Stiles a quick, probing look. It was obvious he had questions but he chose not to voice them. At least not yet. Stiles wondered why. The doctor’s behavior was strange, borderline suspicious. But maybe he simply wanted to get this over with and go home. “Come on, help me get him inside.”

Together they heaved the wolf on the gurney, both careful in their movements. Deaton hurried to wheel his patient away. Stiles stayed outside just long enough to make sure his car was locked, before following the veterinarian inside the clinic.

 

\+ + +

 

“Go wash your hands.” Deaton instructed, already in full-Doctor-mode, filling a tray with various medical equipment, from gauze to bandages to tweezers and some other stuff.

“You want me to stay?” Stiles was taken aback. Not that he was actually planning to leave, but still. He hadn’t expected to be asked to stay.

“Yes. Clearly the wolf trusts you more than me right now. And since I don’t have Scott to assist me, you are my only choice.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Stiles agreed, trying not to take Deaton’s words too personally. So what if he had no knowledge of veterinary medicine? He was a quick learner. And he had excellent bedside manners … which were certainly a plus, considering they were dealing with a dangerous and very cagey animal.

“You could just give him a sedative, knock him out cold.” Stiles suggested. Personally he didn’t like the idea much, just thinking practically here. But it would certainly make it easier for Deaton to treat his patient.

“True. But I think I don’t have time to find the right dosage. My usual patients are quite smaller. I could give him something, but it might not work. Or it could make things worse. And to be honest, I’d rather not risk any complications.”

“Right, better not.” Stiles mumbled, scolding himself for making the suggestion in the first place. Moping, he walked over to the sink, finally complying with the veterinarian’s request to clean up.

In the fluorescent lights his blood stained hands looked bad. It wasn’t much blood, true, but the sight of it still made Stiles wanna hurl, or scream. Who would shoot an innocent animal? Granted, after all what happened, all the mayhem that had been caused, the dead bodies, he could understand that people would get trigger-happy. But still, shouldn’t they make sure they caught the real culprit instead of shooting just anything they’d come across?

That’s what Stiles would do. Check first, take action later. Okay, so in regards to the wolf he might have disregarded those rules, but that was different. He was damn certain his wolf wasn’t the one to blame for the attacks. Aside from the occasional display of warning, like growling or showing his fangs, he was docile like a big, fluffy puppy. No offence intended. Maybe that would change once he was fully healed, but something told him that unless he was threatened, the wolf would harm no one.

Stiles grabbed some paper towels, wiping his hands dry. When he turned around, he saw Deaton operating with a syringe and a vial. “You’re still giving him something?”

“It’s a local anesthetic.” Deaton confirmed, putting the filled syringe on the tray next to the other medical equipment. Then he went to retrieve a pair of latex gloves from a box on the table next to the window, pulling them on. “I’m not planning to use it, though. Not until I’m sure it’s safe. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know for sure. I think he was shot.” Stiles began, making his way back to the gurney. He carefully helped the wolf move, shifting his position so his injured left leg was fully exposed. Fortunately, this time the wolf complied without making a fuss. “There is an entry wound, see, but no exit. And no bullet as far as I can tell, I’ve checked.”

“No bullet? Huh. That’s strange.” Deaton remarked, carefully examining the leg himself. All of a sudden he leaned in to sniff at the wound. He drew back quickly, with a curse on his lips.

“What is it?” Stiles demanded to know, completely shocked by the veterinarian’s strong reaction.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid. We have to work fast.” Without another word Deaton went into the next room. Stiles could hear him open a cabinet or two, rummaging through the contents, clearly looking for something specific.

The wolf lifted his head, staring at Stiles, pleading with his blue eyes. He seemed very anxious, and obviously quickly loosing what little strength he had left.

“It will be okay.” Stiles cooed, petting the wolf’s head. It was all the comfort he could provide. “The Doc is gonna make it better. I promise.”

Right on cue the veterinarian returned, looking triumphant. In his right hand he was holding a pipette, in the other a small vial containing a dark purple, almost black substance. It was hard to tell if it was a liquid or a powder.

“What is that?” Stiles inquired.

“Aconitum napellus.” Deaton answered, quickly clarifying, “Wolfsbane.”

“Isn’t that poisonous?”

“It is.” Deaton confirmed, setting the vial on the sideboard next to the door he just came through. He carefully opened the vial and retrieved some of its content with the pipette. Then he made his way over to the gurney.

“You are not going to give him that!” Stiles shouted, moving his body to shield the wolf from the veterinarian. “It will kill him.”

“Yes, it could.” Deaton allowed, not the least bit fazed by Stiles’ outburst. “In its natural form, it most definitely would kill him. But this wolfsbane is different. It counteracts the one he was poisoned with.”

“What?” Stiles asked, stupidly. His mind was reeling, unable to process the new and utterly bizarre information. Aside from the words ‘poison’ and ‘kill’ nothing Deaton was saying seemed to register with him. Not completely at least. All he cared about right now was his wolf’s safety. And someone talking about killing, no matter in what context, could not to be trusted.

Deaton seemed to sense that, putting the pipette aside. He didn’t come closer, wisely keeping his distance.

“The reason why we cannot find a bullet is because there wasn’t one.” He continued his explanation, in his usual quiet manner. “At least not a normal bullet. By the smell and looks of it, the projectile was made of highly compressed wolfsbane, making it dense enough to cause the same damage as a normal bullet would. It dissolved quickly, instantly entering the blood stream. My guess is it’s a lethal dose … if it doesn’t get treated in time. I know you have your doubts, Stiles, but believe me, the last thing I wanna do is kill your friend.”

“My friend?” Stiles laughed, unintentionally. The last thing he felt like doing right now was laughing.

Deaton smiled, knowingly. “Well, whatever he is, he clearly means a lot to you. I give you my word. I don’t mean him any harm.”

Still glaring at the veterinarian, Stiles slowly moved out of the way, allowing Deaton access to the wolf. He still didn’t trust him completely. For someone who was usually only dealing with domestic animals, he was far too familiar with wild animals. Especially with a wild animal, which wasn’t indigenous to this area. But Stiles believed the veterinarian when he said he had no intention to hurt his friend. Why else would he insist that Stiles stayed behind and assist, if his plan was to kill the wolf?

Deaton nodded once, picking up the pipette, containing the antiserum. Before he could say or do anything, Stiles’ phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, taking one look at the caller ID. 

“It’s my Dad.”

“Answer it.” Deaton urged, clearly not appreciating the interruption but comprehending its significance.

Stiles nodded curtly, planning to keep the call as short as possible. Obviously, Deaton was disinclined to get started without Stiles’ assistance, which was a good sign, in regards to the whole trust issue thingy. But for how long?

“Hey, Dad.”

“Don’t ‘hey Dad’ me. Where are you?” The Sheriff demanded to know.

“I’m not at home …” Stiles began.

“Obviously.”

“If you’d let me finish …” Stiles countered, matching his father’s snarky tone. “I’m with Doctor Deaton, at his clinic.”

“Why?”

“Well, on my way home I ran over a … dog.” Stiles said, cringing. Calling his wolf a dog simply wasn’t right, despite his close genetic relationship to said species.

“You did what?”

“He is fine. Thanks for asking. Well, sort of. The Doc is treating him right now.”

The Sheriff huffed, clearly running out of patience. “As far as excuses go, that’s probably your worst one ever.”

“If you won’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.” Stiles shot back, handing his phone to Deaton, who took it without hesitation.

“Sheriff Stilinski, your son is telling the truth. He brought the animal in twenty minutes ago. He wanted to leave right away, but since Mr. McCall is not here tonight, Stiles volunteered to stay and help.”

Stiles gaped at the veterinarian. He would have never guessed that Deaton was capable of lying so unashamedly, and to the Sheriff of all people. Well, okay, half of what he’d told his Dad was the truth, but still. The part of him volunteering was made up. Stiles smirked at the veterinarian, who answered with a wink and a small smile.

“Okay … I understand … yes … of course, I will make sure he gets home safely. Thanks.” Deaton ended the call, handing the phone back to Stiles.

“He didn’t want to talk to me again?” Stiles asked, stuffing the phone back into his pocket.

“No.” Deaton said. “He just wants me to make sure you go home after this is done.”

“Yeah, I heard. No time limit?”

“He didn’t say. Let’s talk about this later, maybe call your father again. For now, we have more important things to do.” Deaton stated, already busy exchanging the pair of latex gloves he was wearing for fresh ones.

“Should I put on ones myself?” Stiles inquired.

Deaton shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m just wearing them because of the wolfsbane, as a precaution. I need you to hold the wolf still, talk to him, calm him down if necessary. Can you do that?”

Stiles knit his brows. “I think so.”

“Good. Then let’s begin.”

Deaton worked fast. His moves were slick and skillful, like he’d done this before. More than once. Stiles tried to follow the procedure step by step, but the wolf demanded his attention.

As suggested by the veterinarian Stiles talked to the wolf. Mostly about trivial things, like Lacrosse and school. It seemed to work. If the wolf was actually listening, much less understanding even one word Stiles was saying, was unclear. But it didn’t matter. His rambling seem to do the trick.

Or maybe it was the constant physical contact that kept the wolf grounded and still the entire time. Even when Deaton emptied the contents of pipette and drizzled some liquid, probably water, on the wound, and it started to sizzle and smoke, he didn’t move a muscle. The only indication that he was in pain was a heart-wrenching whimper. Actually, he was obviously in more pain than he let on. Because a few moments later the wolf’s head dropped on the gurney, and he was out cold.

“There is no reason for concern.” Deaton said, dampening Stiles’ worry considerably, but not completely.

“How long do you think it will take, for him to wake up again?”

“Not sure. Half an hour, maybe more. It’s hard to tell. But he is strong. He will make a quick and full recovery.” Deaton vowed. “Let’s go next door. I have to show you something.”

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles sipped at a soda can, while flipping through the book the veterinarian gave him to read.

Well, skim through it more likely, since it was partially written in a language Stiles could read but not understand. Despite the language barrier, he was soon engrossed in the book. There were numerous pages with drawings of Druids standing around a big tree, people changing into animals and back, a few recipes for God only knew what, and countless Celtic symbols. The word ‘emissary’ was also mentioned a number of times.

Stiles had no idea why the veterinarian gave him that particular book. He’d asked. Of course, he’d asked. But Deaton hadn’t provided an answer. He’d simply smiled and walked over to the front desk to attend to his (what Stiles assumed) everyday business now that the crisis was averted.

Maybe twenty minutes had passed, when Stiles suddenly could sense a shift in the air. Next he could hear a moan, coming from the other room. A moan that didn’t sound like it was coming from an animal, but from a human.

Before Deaton could stop him, Stiles was on his feet and through the door, leading to the examination room. He didn’t get far, though, stopping right on the threshold.

There was a tall man standing next to the empty gurney. A man who was, as far as Stiles could tell, naked from top to bottom. His body was partially concealed by the gurney. The lower part to be exact, the upper part was put on display in its entire splendor.

Stiles’ eyes slowly wandered from the nicely shaped abs to the hairy chest to the gorgeous, very familiar face.

“Derek?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> I’m so proud of myself. This is the first story I’ve ever finished.


	11. Author’s Note

Thank you all for reading, commenting and sending kudos.

Of course, this story isn’t finished. As if! There are so many questions unanswered. I may be a tease but I’m not evil.

‘Shadow’ is just the first part – which is indeed finished. The next installment will be called ‘Silver Lining’. I’m not sure when the first chapter will be up, though. I’m currently working on my other story ‘Uprising’. And I know from experience that constantly switching between fandoms can be very counterproductive. So, just keep a look out for new uploads.

Until then – take care.


	12. Sequel is up

Just to let you know. The first chapter of the sequel "Silver Lining" is up.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6099514/chapters/13981861


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